POTC: The Spanish Prisoner (Barbossa and the King's Messenger Book II)
by ShahbanouScheherazade
Summary: When the King sends his new Messenger to conduct a prisoner trade, Nina is overjoyed, since her journey will reunite her with Barbossa. But things begin to go wrong, and she must enlist Jack Sparrow's help. Instead of the simple assignment she imagined, the Spanish prisoner turns out to be someone she knows, who draws Jack, Barbossa, and Nina into a mission that may doom them all.
1. The Minories

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of the Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

A/N: This story is part of the King's Messenger series, and is the sequel to **POTC: Barbossa and the King's Messenger** and **How Many Miles to Babylon?**

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**The Minories**

Although I had long been haunted by a singular dream, I never thought it portended disaster. In fact, I blamed it all on Jack and the tales he told me when we were growing up.

On this particular night, the dream began as it always did.

I was floating languidly in the midnight blue ether that envelopes the earth. Around me were fields of countless stars, each a tiny orb of brilliant white, surrounded by a nimbus of ever-shifting colours. They appeared close enough to touch, but I merely gazed at them contentedly, knowing they were far beyond my reach.

Directly overhead was a constellation I knew well - Orion the Hunter. Seen from earth, he appeared no larger than any other group of stars; but here in the heavens, Orion was a colossus.

According to Jack, the legendary Hunter is holding up his sword to defend against the sharp horns of angry Taurus. Sirius, his faithful dog, rushes to his master's side, but who will triumph?

The final outcome can never be known, for constellations are fixed. Orion is frozen forever and the battle will never be fought.

I drifted onward, like a swimmer in placid waters, but the stars around me began to move and darken, and I was seized with a violent, ominous intuition. I tried to shout a warning, but no sound came from my throat. The Great Dog was barking wildly, and I struggled in the heavy ether, unable to reach Orion.

In the midst of this turmoil, Hector spoke, his voice close at hand, calming me. "Nina," he said distinctly, almost in my ear.

I awoke with a start and reached for him, but in that instant, of course, I remembered.

Amsterdam. I was in the port of Amsterdam by my own choice, miserable and alone.

The morning air in my room was frigid. It had blown through the open window all night, carried on the same unseasonable winds that were sweeping the North Sea.

On a table near my bed lay the terse royal summons to London, but at the moment I was powerless to obey it. The Dutch merchantman I travelled on had been damaged in a storm and put into port for repairs. For three days, I had been waiting impatiently to board a dispatch boat - a fast Bermuda sloop which would put to sea as soon as possible.

I breathed a sigh and pulled the bedclothes up to my nose. The mattress might as well have been an ice floe. As I lay curled up, craving the shelter of Hector's warm embrace, the barking of Orion's dog continued. Clearly, there was no more sleep to be had.

"How can it be so blessed cold in here?" I complained to the empty room. After testing the icy floor with my foot, I made my way to the window.

I reached out to pull down the window sash, and saw the source of the barking: a wretched little dog in the street below, thin and solitary. There was a half-eaten hard roll left from supper, and I tossed it down to him.

A disapproving cough came from the doorway as someone entered the room.

"You should not feed him, Mistress Bitter, it gives encouragement," said Mrs Geel, looking at me with a long face. The innkeeper's tall, angular wife had come to start the fire.

I turned back to the window just in time for the roll to strike me full in the face. The monkey who had thrown it screamed and scampered up to the roof.

I spat out the crumbs, wiping butter off my nose. "Devil rot you!"

A muffled laugh told me Mistress Geel was secretly enjoying the spectacle. "If you mind their pranks, you might have been happier at another inn. We're not called het Aepjen for nothing."

She regarded me with a pinched look as I threw the roll to the dog once more.

I was about to remark that I thought one of the creatures was quite sufficient, instead of the scores that infested the inn, but our conversation was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. Wrapping the bed-clothes about my shoulders, I bade whoever it was to enter.

It was Miep, the inn's barmaid. "Beg pardon," she said with a little nod, "You are sailing on a dispatch boat? Captain Gillette is downstairs asking for you."

I dressed hurriedly and greeted him at the foot of the stairs. "Good day, Captain. Good news, I hope?"

Captain Gillette was a tall man whose sharp eyes and darkly handsome face bespoke an active intellect. This morning, he was brisk and confident. "_HMS Guernsey_ sails in two hours, madam, but I warn you to expect a rough crossing. I had thought perhaps you might care to dine with me this evening, but I fear food will be the last thing you'll want."

In truth, I was so bereft of companionship that I would have dined on deck in the midst of a tempest for the sake of a good conversation. "Rough seas don't trouble me, Captain. A congenial dinner tonight will please me almost as much as the sight of London tomorrow."

I packed my few belongings in less than ten minutes, threw on my cloak (purchased the day before at a Dutch rag fair), and made my way to the harbour. Once aboard, I retired to my small cabin to read, but in a short while my thoughts were drawn back, as I knew they would be, to the same doubts and regrets that had plagued me since receiving the summons.

It all boiled down to this: I was caught like a hare in a thicket, trapped in the life of a King's Messenger.

Not three weeks earlier, I had been aboard _HMS Royal Oak_, newly married to an infamous pirate who had won my utter devotion, and expecting to return with him to the West Indies. Now we were separated by thousands of miles, and I longed for his touch with every beat of my heart.

"Oh, Hector, what have I done?" I murmured. "How could I make such a devil's bargain as this?"

In London I would be given a confidential errand for the King; more than that, I did not know. But whatever it was - delivering a treaty or perpetrating sabotage - I cared not a louse. I resolved to finish it quickly and rejoin my husband. In my present state, I was split in half: my heart still in Hector's keeping, whilst the rest of me journeyed on, empty and spiritless.

The sloop had begun to heel in earnest, and the floor of my cabin tilted to leeward, as the _Guernsey_ bounded over the swells. She seemed to be making good headway, and I needed a restorative to my low spirits. Why not venture on deck for a better look at her? I hauled myself up to a standing position, and lunged towards the cabin door.

Once on deck, I found that we were sailing at perhaps a forty-degree angle of heel in heavy seas and strong winds. The crew were handling her very well, clearly proud of their vessel and keen to maintain the dispatch service's reputation for speed. Although I have always loved sailing in this sort of turbulent weather, I returned to my cabin after a short time, lest my presence on deck hinder their work.

That night, my supper at Captain Gillette's table was managed with some care, since any unguarded dish or cutlery was liable to take flight as we crossed the wind-whipped North Sea.

After the usual small talk, he said: "I won't pretend to indifference regarding your presence on what is, after all, a naval vessel. I don't suppose you can enlighten me?"

I pretended ignorance. "I am answering the summons which I presented to you, Captain, but I know nothing more of its nature."

"If you were a man, I might suspect you were in the Messenger service," he said, plainly intrigued. "They're the only ones I've ever heard of requiring this sort of accommodation."

His clever guess made me uncomfortable, but I laughed. "No one can charge you with a want of imagination, Captain. I'm no more a Messenger than I am a naval officer, although I was once engaged to a fine lieutenant, now sadly deceased." Even as I said these words, I could have bit my tongue off for letting them spill out so carelessly.

Gillette was instantly alert. "My condolences, madam. What was his name? Perhaps I served with him."

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I had forgot the strong bond that unites the officers of the Royal Navy, but Gillette was a member of that fraternity, and it would not do to avoid his question.

"James Norrington." I held my breath, praying the name would be unknown to him.

"James Norrington!" he exclaimed. "Why -"

"It was many years ago," I interjected.

"I sailed under Captain Norrington," said Gillette, "and never knew a finer officer. The_ Dauntless_ was his first command. Many of us followed him from that ship to the _Endeavour_."

Then he began to recount tales of James' service in the West Indies - his pursuit of Jack Sparrow, and his actions in the War Against Piracy. Poor Gillette! He was a good man and must have thought his words would console me.

I listened to all of it without betraying my emotions, but as I calculated how many lies would be necessary to hide my past, I began to feel like Peter in the high priest's courtyard.

I managed a smile as supper ended. "I am so very grateful to you, Captain, for sharing your reminiscences. Surely you will be serving on a first-rater again, very soon."

This seemed to please him, and we bade each other a friendly good-evening.

Alone in my cabin, I took hold of the fine chain around my neck, and drew a small pendant from under my shirt. There was not enough light to see it, but I knew it by touch - a shark's tooth like the one Hector wore on his ear, caged in gold filigree. I lay in my berth and closed my eyes, lulled by the motion of the ship.

Perhaps we were not so divided after all. The world's many oceans were really one, weren't they? The same water I was sailing on would find its way to Hector's ship. Yes, the sea united us and would carry my love to Hector. I fell asleep, the shark's tooth in my hand.

The next day, rough seas had given way to the smooth waters of the Thames. As we travelled up the river to London, I roamed the deck trying to get my bearings. We were approaching a low cloud of soot, and though we were still miles from the city, the air carried the unmistakable smell of coal, mixed with other odours. There was a deal of traffic on the river, and frequent shouts could be heard from seamen bringing great merchant vessels to port, watermen ferrying passengers, and a host of others who made their living on the river.

London seemed to be growing at a monstrous pace, and its whole aspect was one of bustling commerce. Everywhere there were coaches of people and wagons of merchandise rumbling to and from the warehouses and inns that lined the riverside, whilst scores of new buildings sprouted in every direction, and it seemed that even the little villages lying east of the city were reaching towards the west, eager to clasp hands with this great centre of England. Amid the prodigious mass of new buildings, one could still observe houses of an older sort, with half-timbered walls, projecting upper storeys, and haphazard shingle roofs with gables set at odd angles, which had probably survived the Great Fire of the last century.

As I gazed at these marvellous sights, our bosun shouted orders to set the anchor and Gillette approached with two of his crew. He carried a dispatch case, and I realised we were near the Whitehall Stairs and the Admiralty, where he clearly had business.

We descended to the boat and were rowed to the Stairs, where Gillette gallantly handed me out of the small craft. "And how do you propose to travel all the way to Kensington, Mistress Bitter?" he asked.

He had no sooner spoken than a man in the uniform of a postilion came towards us. "Nina Houlton Bitter?" he enquired.

I nodded and he waved me in the direction of a post-chaise, to the great confusion of Gillette.

"Farewell, Captain Gillette!" I called back as I ran to the post-chaise. "It would seem I'm to be driven to Kensington."

The postilion bundled me into the carriage along with the small sack of my worldly goods. "No proper bags to go on the luggage platform?" he asked disdainfully, and without waiting for an answer, he mounted the drawing horse on the left, and I was off to Kensington Palace.

I drank in the scenery as the majestic palaces and government offices gave way to square after square where the fashionable houses of London society stood proudly. I quickly looked away as we thundered past Tyburn's three-cornered gallows, and then we were flying down the King's Private Road through Hyde Park towards Kensington Palace. I glimpsed the beautiful landscape and graceful tree-lined avenues along which people rode or walked, and then my carriage stopped before the magnificent gilded gates through which could be seen the royal residence.

I stepped down and gave my fare to the postilion, upon which he drew a small, folded paper from under his coat and handed it to me. Assuming it to be a ticket or receipt of some kind, I stuffed it into the pocket of my breeches, and the post-chaise rattled off quickly, leaving me standing at the gates.

Before I could hand my summons to the gate keeper, he pushed me aside to clear the way for a large carriage to pass through. Instead, the vehicle halted and I heard a murmur of conversation and laughter from within it. A young man poked his head out of its window and said to me in a very superior tone, "The tradesman's entrance is that way, wench."

I stood very straight and spoke sharply. "I've not been summoned thousands of miles to be sent to the tradesman's entrance."

He pulled his head back into the carriage, and after a moment, steps were unfolded and the carriage door was opened by a footman. An older man of small stature, slender and cat-like, emerged from the carriage and approached me. He was very finely dressed in the latest fashion, with a neatly curled wig that might have been French, and a complexion whitened by a heavy application of paint and powder. His expression was pleasant and easy in repose, and the curve of his mouth would have lent sweetness to even the most severe visage; but the slight crease between his brows and the sharpness of his brown eyes suggested a guarded and perceptive intellect.

"Give me the summons," said this oddly girlish man, extending long, delicate fingers. I obliged, and he read it over. His eyes flicked towards me once before returning to the document.

"'Bitter', is it?" he asked lightly, handing the document back to me. "Wait here, I shall send someone."

I softened my expression. "Thank you, sir."

My benefactor raised an admonishing finger. "Thank you, Your Lordship," he corrected me. "That is how one addresses the Lord Privy Seal."

My face flushed, though I saw traces of a cynical wit in his eyes. "I do beg pardon, Your Lordship." But he had already turned his back, and his footman shut him up in the carriage again without ever glancing in my direction.

As the carriage rumbled through the gate, I turned to the gate keeper. "Who was that?"

"Lord Hervey," he replied with a knowing look that I was at a loss to interpret.

I waited for what seemed a long time. At last, having nothing else to divert me, I withdrew the receipt (as I supposed it to be) from my pocket to read it. I was surprised to see nothing but an unfamiliar address scrawled on one side:

_Golden Lion, Goodman's Yard_

A few moments later, none other than Lord Hervey himself came strolling towards me with a fashionable and affected gait.

"His Majesty has no taste for company today," he told me with a touch of asperity. "He finds himself in an ill-temper, and will see you when it improves. You may count yourself among the fortunate in that regard."

This was very bad news indeed. I knew from my uncle's experiences that I was expected to hold myself in readiness until summoned again, be it in hours, days or even weeks. I had little money, and no acquaintances or lodgings in London, and now it would seem that I needed all three.

As I stood speechless, Lord Hervey noticed the paper in my hand, and laughed.

"By God, is that a billet-doux you are holding?" he asked, lightly mocking me. "There is more to you than meets the eye, Mistress Bitter. You are not in London half a day, and I perceive you have attracted an admirer."

In my present humour, I had no stomach for silly banter. "It would seem a poor sort of love letter."

He took the note from my hand without asking and read it, raising his brows very slightly.

"You do know that they are no longer debtors' sanctuaries, do you not?" he said with a little smile.

My blank expression told him that I failed to grasp his jest.

"The liberties of London, of course," he explained.

I shook my head. "Sorry-"

"My, my, you are green enough to plant in his Majesty's gardens!" he exclaimed.

Then, to my surprise, he beckoned to his carriage. "Well, Mistress Bitter, shall we discover what awaits you at the Golden Lion in Goodman's Yard? I confess I have had my fill of ennui for the present and feel an inclination to pry coming on."

Something in his manner suggested that the King's ill-temper had contributed to Lord Hervey's ennui. In any event, we settled ourselves in his carriage, and set off for the area called, as I later learned, the Minories.

Lord Hervey kept up a most diverting conversation with me as he pointed out houses, streets, pleasure gardens and the like, until at last we turned off of a broad street into Goodman's Yard.

"You will do, Mistress Bitter, you will do," he suddenly remarked. "If you keep your wits about you."

I suspected that he sought to discover my situation by making me think it was already known to him. Therefore, I pretended to misunderstand. "My wit is no match for yours, Your Lordship, but conversing with you has been a delight and a privilege."

He received this with a short laugh. "I see you're no babbling fool," he said as the carriage stopped, "but remember that even the most skilful may want intelligence, and will be generous in return. That is my advice to you."

He smiled as his footman opened the door, and I stepped down next to a little knot of people who stared at the shabbily-clothed girl who had been sharing a carriage with such a finely-dressed, foppish courtier.

As soon as Lord Hervey departed, I was approached by a lad of ten or so. "I'm to take ye to yer lodgin's," he announced. When I hesitated, he added, "Bitter, right?"

I nodded.

He led me out of the Yard and down a busy street near the Exchange, which suddenly narrowed into an alley where older houses crowded together with dilapidated shops, farriers and a cooperage. He stopped at the door of an establishment whose sign proclaimed, J. H. Hutson - Tailor - Dealer in Piece Goods.

A woman answered the boy's knock and glanced at me. "Are you sure-"

"'Course it's 'er," replied the boy very rudely.

"Then you'd best come in," the woman said to me, as she cuffed the boy about the ear. Then she called up the stairs, "Mr Singleton! She's 'ere!"

Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs, and a very aged, clean-shaven man entered the shop. He was dressed like a merchant and wore a long wig. For several moments he said nothing, but stared at my face in silence.

"I cannot doubt that you are the niece of Harry Bitter," he said at last. "I see you received my communiqué." He took a key from his pocket and turned to the stairs, adding, "Follow me, please."

So bewildering had my day been that I had quite given up trying to make sense of it. I followed Mr Singleton meekly up the stairs to the second storey, where he unlocked a door and waved me inside. When I entered and looked about me, I had a great shock, for the dusty, abandoned rooms had evidently belonged to my late uncle.

"He used it as a sort of headquarters," said Mr Singleton from behind me. "A bolthole when on the King's errands. You may change it of course, and make whatever use of it you require as a member of the Messenger service. You will find the highest level of discretion here."

I turned to him quickly. "What makes you think I am, or ever could be, a King's Messenger?"

He returned a grandfatherly smile. "There's no cause for alarm Mistress Bitter. You see . . . Edward Teague told me."

This news jolted me even more. "You claim an acquaintance with Edward Teague? But I have never heard him mention anyone named Singleton."

My benefactor sighed. "I live here under that name to avoid my creditors, I'm afraid," he answered, "but for many years I was a trusted friend of both your uncle and your father." He let that sink in for a moment, then said, "Outside of this house, Mistress Bitter, I am thought to be dead. My true name is Daniel Defoe."

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**Next:** An old acquaintance re-appears and King George's temper improves.


	2. A Simple Task

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of the Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

A/N: This story is part of the King's Messenger series, and is the sequel to **POTC: Barbossa and the King's Messenger** and **How Many Miles to Babylon?**

* * *

**A Simple Task**

Whether I was fatigued from my long journey or still reeling from all that had happened in London, I could hardly grasp my situation: that a well-known author, reportedly deceased, should be standing before me in excellent health.

"Daniel Defoe!" I could only echo his name.

Mr Defoe allowed himself a slight smile. "I see you've heard of me."

Quickly recollecting myself, I tried to salvage the idiotic impression I must have made. "I beg your pardon, sir - I'm honoured to meet you! I never imagined you knew my family."

"Your uncle would not have jeopardised my incognito by speaking of it."

"No, of course not." My gaze wandered past him to the rooms my uncle had occupied.

Defoe cast a sympathetic eye over my bedraggled appearance. "I shall take my leave of you now, Mistress Bitter. You have travelled far, and courtesy dictates that I abstain from small talk until you are rested." He handed me the door key and stepped into the hallway. "My quarters are just above – please call upon me for any assistance that you need."

"Thank you, sir - oh! Might I first borrow a bottle of ink and a quill? I must send a letter at once."

The abruptness of my request might have surprised Defoe, but Hector had been uppermost in my mind from the moment I set foot on the Whitehall Stairs.

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You're aware, are you not, that London is full of spies employed by various patrons? If you are connected with the court or government, they are sure to intercept your letters."

I recalled my uncle's wry jokes regarding letters that came from London. "You'd think spies could learn to open them without tearing everything to shreds,"he would say.

But my letters would be particularly dangerous. They could disclose my relationship with a certain pirate and put us all at risk. "What do you suggest?"

Defoe cleared his throat. "My alias can be of use to you," he said. "No one opens Mr Singleton's letters - he is a person of no importance. He can address your letters in his own hand, and send them by regular post, undetected." He laid a finger beside his long, thin nose for a moment, then added, "And Mr Singleton collects his correspondence from the Golden Lion, should anyone need to know."

I looked sharply at his face, but saw none of the clever, catlike dissembling that marked Lord Hervey's expressions. Defoe's words conveyed the sincere offer of an honest man. I smiled. "Thank you, sir. You have taken a great weight off my mind."

A short while later, I sat at my uncle's writing table. Hector and I had agreed on what could be allowed in our letters, and I tried to keep to our accord:

_My dear friend,_

_At last I have arrived, but my employer must think lightly of the effort it cost me, since I am now constrained to wait – for how long I know not – until it pleases him to command me._

_Your letters will reach me unmolested if you direct them to Mr Singleton at the Golden Lion, Goodman's Yard, The Little Minories._

There I paused, quill in hand. I contended with myself for a time, then quickly wrote:

_All the wonders of London are nothing to me without you._

The sudden tightness in my throat made me swallow, and I stopped. One more sentence in this vein, and the floodgates of my emotions would surely burst. With a sigh, I reluctantly closed as Hector had directed:

_Affectionately,_

_Your own friend._

After taking the letter upstairs, I returned to the cluttered rooms below. My tumultuous journey had ended at last, but it was solitude I sought, far more than rest.

I walked about my uncle's front room, where a folded campaign bed I did not know he owned was leaning against one wall. On the other side of the room, a long settle bore impressions from boot heels at one end; I pictured him taking a volume from the five crowded bookshelves above it before stretching out to read.

Naturally, there was no shortage of weapons: I discovered two pistols under the writing table, a small Turkish vein cutter in the curio cabinet, and a cutlass lying upon the mantel of the small fireplace.

The second chamber looked spare and impersonal - a trundle-bed, two small side tables, and an empty chest of drawers. The buffet de corps, on the other hand, was so characteristic of my uncle that it made me smile. It was stuffed with papers, maps, munitions, keys, and boxes. A sheaf of papers was even pinned to one wall with a small, sharp dagger. I sat on the settle and contemplated the rooms.

I hoped that shutting out the world would allow me the comforting pretense that my uncle was still alive and nearby. I stared at the front door, imagining his familiar step outside, and the way he would enter a room with a smile and a story to tell. And so I waited, like everything in these rooms, for a man who would never return.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I recalled his murder. If only I could go back in time to warn him before he set out on that fatal journey home. _Don't ride out on Bodmin Moor where death awaits you. Don't make me miss you for the rest of my life. Don't._ But he was gone forever. I opened my eyes and resumed my aimless wandering through the deserted rooms. Only the sound of my footsteps broke the silence.

Despite the fact that he was my uncle, in some sense I would always regard Harry Bitter as the wise and loving father who brought me up. Yet, here amongst the books he had read, the clothes he had worn and the mementos he had kept, I could also see him as his colleagues and superiors undoubtedly did. All the objects in these rooms were the possessions of a skilled and bold adventurer; a military man who could handle weapons, horses, and daring exploits equally well.

The idea that I could follow this dangerous profession was suddenly preposterous, but I had brought it all on myself.

King George had offered to help me defeat a deadly enemy, on condition that I join the King's Messenger service. Without thinking, I had agreed. Now, as Hector would say, I must lie in my bed the way I made it.

My eyes came to rest upon a large, empty duffel bag in a corner, and I made an effort to focus on practical matters, packing the items from my small rucksack into the sturdier, roomier bag. It swallowed up my pistols, scimitar, books, and badge. Lastly, I added the only proofs of my marriage – the poesy ring inscribed _Guard well my heart_ and Teague's logbook.

I made a list of necessities such as candles, ink and other sundries, and extracted a small, twisted paper from my pocket. Inside were two of the little diamonds given me by the Countess of Yarmouth, to keep me from abject poverty, as she had said. But I already needed to sell them. Once they were gone and the proceeds spent, what I would do?

The night brought me but a few hours' sleep, and the next morning, I was roused by Mrs Hutson rapping at my door. "A post carriage brought this," she said, handing me a note.

When I opened it, it proved to be a scribbled order from the King: I was to present myself at once. I quickly washed, dressed, and then ran up the street to Goodman's Yard, where I found the post-chaise waiting to take me to Kensington Palace as though I were a proper Messenger.

Upon arriving, I was escorted through a maze of passages and up the backstairs – the entrance used for private meetings with His Majesty. As I reached the top, I could hear the King swearing in German accompanied by a sporadic series of thumping noises. The Page smiled to himself, and went in to announce me.

I entered to find King George wigless, red-faced, and out of breath. His wig lay on the floor in a disorderly state, and he gave it a last ill-tempered kick before sitting at his desk.

"One of my agents is on a mission in the Indies, under an alias," he grumbled. "But the imprudent fool has lost his ship and been captured by the Spaniards. They have him in some damned dunghill of a fortress. You are to exchange a Spanish prisoner for my agent. Here is a letter of instruction for you." He shoved a paper across his desk.

I accepted it and he sat back, one hand rubbing his chin as he stared at me.

"You will collect the Spaniard from Newgate with this warrant," he said, and threw another paper at me. "Escort him under guard to Cuba, and make the exchange. A simple enough task."

One word had alarmed me: Newgate. Why would a state prisoner be held in Newgate instead of the Tower?

"May I beg to know what the Spaniard was charged with, sire?" I hoped that my question would not cause him to kick me about the room like his wig.

"Theft," he replied, his scowl daring me to ask anything more. "You will make the exchange as soon as possible – before my agent's identity is discovered."

He paused for so long that it seemed my audience was at an end, but then he revealed the rest of my errand. "It is not in your instructions," he said, "but after the exchange, you are to help him re-take his ship and lend any and every assistance requested to ensure that he completes his mission."

Then he turned his attention back to his desk, and shooed me away with one hand.

I bowed and backed out of the room, turning only when I reached the door. As I started down the backstairs, I heard him call out, "And see Hervey about the money."

Outside the palace, the autumn sky was overcast, but I was in an exceedingly sweet humour as I walked towards the post-chaise. There was a new lightness in my step and a delicious glow warmed my heart: the King's errand required me to go at once to the Indies, where I could rejoin Hector. Everything around me was beautiful.

The post-chaise took me as far as St James' Palace, where Lord Hervey received me in his state apartments in a most ingratiating manner. Our meeting was brief, but not devoid of interest.

"If, despite your help, the King's agent cannot fulfil his mission," he told me, "I will settle your claim for expenses. However, if he succeeds . . ." Lord Hervey paused and leaned on one elbow, putting his hand to his lips. "I think you'll find your expenses will be more than covered by your profit from the gold."

"The gold?" I tried not to stare at his false teeth.

"I don't pretend to know the nature of the King's secret venture," he said with a feline smile, "But one hears things, and what I hear is _gold_. A great deal of it. Masses, in fact. You are to pay yourself out of the venture. And should you come into possession of any interesting facts in your travels, I trust you will remember who first told you of the gold."

"I shall remember," I promised. Then my curiosity got the better of me. "By the by, I thought all messengers were paid by the Paymaster–"

"Pelham, you mean," he cut me off. "His Majesty wishes to keep your service a secret; Pelham is the surest route to having it noised about the town."

His voice carried unmistakable signs of his animosity towards Pelham, though his face was calm and mask-like.

I was beginning to get a taste of the backstabbing world of the courtiers, and was glad to bid adieu to Lord Hervey. I had no doubt that he would betray anything I confided to him, the instant it could advance his interest.

Leaving Hervey's residence, I walked east, and shortly came to Panton Street, where a goldsmith called George Wickes was said to buy diamonds.

There was a small uproar in front of Mr Wickes' shop.

The goldsmith was arguing with a young man and threatening to have him taken in charge for selling stolen goods. The young man, dressed in a fashion similar to myself, had tried to sell a valuable stone without telling how he had acquired it. Mr Wickes, seeing he was dealing with a person of no great means, refused to buy the stone, and was looking for a thief-taker to seize the young man.

I realised that I could not sell the diamonds here - the clothes I wore would make it likely I should be thought a thief. I drew back from the fracas, but Mr Wickes rounded on me and said, "And _you_! What's _your_ business here, lad?"

"I was told to meet my employer here." With no time to think, this was the first thing that came to me. "Lord Hervey."

There was silence. Then Mr Wickes looked me up and down, and said, "Lord Hervey, eh? What for?"

His hesitation encouraged me to invent more. "I have a report. If he is not here, I'd be obliged to you, sir, if you can direct me to him."

Mr Wickes clearly had to desire to involve himself in political conniving. "Just up the road there," he said, pointing. "Then turn right and keep walking."

I retraced my steps, and when I reached St James' Palace, I simply kept going until I was in Green Park. With no easy way to sell the diamonds, I walked through the park trying to clear my head. Surely I could arrange some way out of my difficulty.

As I walked along the lovely avenue, I gazed up at the bare branches of the trees, and then down at the dead leaves on the cold grass. I must have been walking for some time, head down and lost in thought, before I stopped short. I was staring at a pair of blue shoes worn by a passer-by that I had nearly walked into as they proceeded in the opposite direction. We both side-stepped in the same direction. Without lifting my head, I side-stepped the other way, but the blue shoes followed. Then the stranger began to laugh, and I finally looked up, startled. "_You?_"

"I'm afraid so," said Elizabeth Swann. "I shouldn't have, but I saw you walking along with your head down and I couldn't resist." Then she looked anxious. "Did my letter ever reach you?"

"Yes, it did." One could argue that the loneliness of London would have made me glad to see any familiar face at all, but whatever the cause, I no longer felt jealous or intimidated by her. I determined to try to mend fences. "At times, I'm a bit hot-headed. The things I said to you aboard the _Pearl_ . . ."

"I have forgotten it already – it all seems like another life," she assured me.

All at once I noticed that her figure looked quite rounded, and I recalled something Jack had told me. "I've heard congratulations are in order."

"Thank you – yes, I am Mrs Turner now, and happy to leave 'King Swann' in the past." She smiled, but I thought she looked a bit wistful. Then she gestured towards the road where a very smart coach was waiting. "I'm staying at my cousin's house – perhaps you'll come back with me?"

It was only a short ride to Hanover Square, which had everything to recommend it except trees. New houses were set round a large grassy oval enclosed by iron railings, which evidently served as a private "park" for the square's residents.

Inside the house, there were few furnishings, and we had to uncover two chairs in order to settle ourselves for tea.

Elizabeth seemed eager that we should be friends, and made me most welcome. She had come to London to settle her father's estate, only to find everything held in Chancery. Like me, she was running short of money as the estate was ground up and picked over by the lawyers.

"I shall sell the coach next week," she remarked. "Beyond that, I have no idea how to pay my passage back to the Indies, or the expenses of my lying in."

I stole a look at her thickening waistline. "At least it looks to be some months away." Then I had an idea. "Perhaps Lord Hervey would help. I nearly asked him what to do about selling some diamonds." Swearing her to strictest confidence, I acquainted her with my own situation, and the reason I had been in Green Park.

"You mustn't trust Lord Hervey," Elizabeth said with alarm. "He's reptilian. And those jade teeth . . ." She shuddered. "Furthermore, he's Walpole's man. He detests the King, and you're the King's messenger, so . . ."

I could see from this that there was no avoiding the very thing I hated most about the court – the relentless self-interest of everyone attached to it. The sooner I was finished with the King's errand, the sooner I would be finished with the court.

Elizabeth had been frowning in thought, but she suddenly thrust out her hand.

"Look – why not let me sell the diamonds for you?" she said. "The Swanns have bought all sorts of things from Wickes – he won't think to ask where I got these. I'll give you a receipt, and you can tell me where to bring the proceeds." She laughed. "Then I can beg alms from you when I run out of money."

I gave her the diamonds and directions to my lodgings, cautioning her to avoid being followed.

"Of course," she said. Then she surveyed my clothes doubtfully. "You didn't wear a gown when you went to Kensington?"

I laughed. "I'm lucky to have boots and a warm cloak! I have no gowns. Don't tell me I'm expected to wear one?"

"I know they're torture," she said. "But at court, that sort of protective colouring might be to your advantage. The most incessant, vicious scheming goes on. It doesn't hurt to pass amongst them unremarked. I could find you something of my aunt's. She's in Italy – it won't incommode her in the least."

I shook my head. "I appreciate the gesture, but it isn't necessary. I don't plan to return once I reach the Indies."

"As you like," she replied. "But life can be uncertain." She was gazing at something behind me, but I did not turn to look. I knew what it was – a portrait of her father, Governor Swann.

At the end of my visit, she surprised me with one last question. "What do you hear from Jack?" she enquired, as though it had been on her mind all afternoon.

I gave a short laugh. "The last time I saw Jack, he had pocketed nearly all of my diamonds. I expect he's in the Caribbean by now, pillaging and plundering to his heart's content."

She nodded. "Well," she said, almost to herself, "I owe him a great deal. I've not forgotten."

The next day was Sunday. Defoe customarily attended a Dissenter's church for most of the day, and so it was evening when I called upon him. I told him that I might receive a visit from an old friend who was raising capital for me to replenish my dwindling resources.

"I never expected to be detained here," I said. "And in fact, Mrs Turner is in similar circumstances."

"If you have anything to invest, I might be able to propose a venture," Defoe replied with a sidelong look. "Although it is attended by some degree of risk."

My acquaintance with Mr Defoe was proving to be most fortunate. I sat forward. "Won't you tell me the details and let me decide for myself?"

"I know the captain of a certain ship," he said, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "He is preparing to take on a cargo of tea. If you or Mrs Turner would care to invest in his venture, you would come in for a share of the profit."

Having spent my youth in Cornwall, I understood him at once. "And the tea is . . . uncustomed?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Paying the excise tax more than doubles the price. A great many people cannot afford tea unless it is smuggled in." He ceased drumming his fingers. "It is the same for many goods – salt, wine, coffee, even bread. If it weren't for the free traders, life would be hard indeed for poorer folk."

I nodded. And life would be hard for folk like me as well. "I shall write to Mrs Turner, but I think I can assure you that we will each invest in the venture."

"And I shall act as your banker," he replied. "The ship is the _Lottery_, and the captain's name is Quintus Lambert. I shall need your money within a week if possible."

I retired to bed in a state of perfect serenity. I would be able to supply my want of money, and the King's errand fitted perfectly with my desire for a quick return to the Indies and Hector. I slept soundly that night, untroubled by dreams of Orion and his dog.

I wrote to Elizabeth the next morning, explaining Defoe's proposal. Then I scraped together every last bit of money I could find, and spent several hours locating a ship and booking passage to the Indies for myself and my prisoner.

It was late afternoon when I returned to my rooms. I secured all of the weapons, unfolded the campaign cot, and retrieved a set of manacles from behind the settle. I opened the warrant and blinked as I read my prisoner's name. What was this?

_Hermano Sombra_, it read. My prisoner was evidently a Spanish friar.

I glanced at the name again, puzzled. 'Brother Ghost'? _Sombra_ could mean shadow or ghost, but either would be a very odd name for a friar.

However, since Brother Sombra was being sent back to his native land, he should prove a docile prisoner and not seek to discommode me. I decided to collect him from Newgate that very evening, return to my rooms for my duffel bag, and then escort him to the ship that would take us to the Indies.

It would be a simple task, just as King George had said.

By eight o'clock that night, I was at the entrance to Newgate, warrant in hand. The prison's hellish, deafening din was audible from the street, but when I entered through the gates, the noise rose around me as though all the devils in hell were shouting out at once. I gagged at the overwhelming stink. Acrid fumes of urine and sweat made my eyes water.

I followed the keeper, my arms pinned at my sides to avoid touching the greasy, reeking passage walls. In the darkness, nothing of the floor could be seen, but its peculiar crunch under my boots unnerved me. Was I walking on gravel? Grains of rye?

We went quickly through the women's wards, to a chorus of insulting taunts. From there we passed the men's wards which echoed with whistles and rude threats. I startled, as a snarling dog ran past me.

"That one's a good ratter," observed the keeper. "Keeps the population down, don' it?"

If I ever found my way home from this particular circle of hell, my first act would be to burn my clothes.

On the far side of the men's ward, we stopped at a row of ten or twelve tiny cells. The keeper smirked. "For the condemned."

He opened a cell, and I looked in.

A tall, not unhandsome man with very black hair and beard was sleeping on a mat on the floor, attired in the black habit of an Augustinian friar. Our approach had not disturbed him – perhaps he had grown accustomed to the constant uproar of Newgate. Even in his habit, one could see that he was an active, able man.

The keeper struck the cell's wall with his cudgel and yelled, "Oi! You! Wake up, ye thievin' bastard!"

Brother Sombra opened his eyes, and the keeper unlocked his shackles. As I fastened my own pair of manacles on him, I explained in hurried Spanish that he would shortly be on his way back to his own country. To my surprise, this news seemed to disturb him.

Then the keeper looked towards the door, and I heard a familiar, boozy voice.

"Sorry – I appear to have made a wrong turn. Where can I find a Lazaro Bolivar Smith - or Smithy?"

I froze, then turned to see none other than Jack Sparrow, swaying unsteadily as he spoke to the keeper. As soon as he saw me, he brightened, flashing a golden grin.

"Hello, darling," he said. "How's married life, eh?"

My jaw dropped. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone to Tortuga!"

"I promised t' see off an old friend," he replied, "but he seems to have vanished." He looked at Brother Sombra, puzzled. "An' who might this be?"

Something else was afoot. I didn't think for one moment that Jack Sparrow would enter a prison merely to visit someone. I suspected an escape would soon be underway, and I wanted nothing to do with it. "I'm on the King's errand. I'm to take this man in charge. I have a warrant-"

"Ah! There 'e is!" Jack craned around me and waved at a man in the midst of the ward. Then, sinking his voice, he leaned close and muttered, "He's to be tried an' hanged tomorrow, savvy?"

As I drew back from Jack's rum-soaked breath, I began to notice an increasing number of people bustling through the ward and passages in all directions, pushing and shoving others out of their way. The atmosphere of the prison began to change, as if becoming charged with a violent energy.

I heard a woman shout, "They're bringin' in the Lambert gang!"

"Celebrities," said Jack with a dismissive shrug.

I stepped toward the public ward to get a closer look, and drew a sharp breath. Most of the prisoners I could see had either broken or unlocked their shackles, though they were holding their arms in a way that made this difficult to observe. The keepers were oblivious; either bribed or unfit, I could not say which. My muscles tensed and my heart pounded as understanding dawned.

This prison was about to be sacked by a mob.

I turned back to Jack and someone pushed me hard. I banged into the doorway as the noise in the ward became an uproar. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a horde of prisoners pouring in from somewhere, filling every inch of space, yelling, pushing, and fighting. I turned to face them and was instantly thrown back against the granite wall of the passage by the sheer weight of unwashed bodies as everyone pressed to get through the passages at once.

The back of my head hit the wall, and my arms were scraped raw as I struggled against the rough stone surface. I turned my eyes to the barreled ceiling, wondering if this would be the last sight I saw on earth. Sweat ran down my neck as I twisted, resisting the tide of people, trying to draw breath. For a moment, I had a glimpse of Jack nearby, but could not even reach out my hand; it was pinned to my side by the pressure of the crowd.

Then Brother Sombra quickly pushed his way past and disappeared into a pulsating wall of rioters.

I tried to push my way after Brother Sombra. Redoubling my struggles, I yelled and pushed roughly, returning the blows that fell upon me and jabbing people with my elbows. At last my hand closed about the grip of my pistol.

Jack appeared, pulling me to his side quickly. He pressed his hand over mine so I could not draw my weapon.

"You really don't want to be doin' that here, love." He spoke calmly in my ear. "I'll help you get him."

At that moment, another crushing wave of inmates forced us apart, and I lost sight of Jack. I fought back, clawing my way towards where I thought he might be, but the mob carried me along like a cork in a river. I could hardly fill my lungs amid the press of bodies.

If I fell or was pushed to the ground, it would be the end of me.

I would be trampled to death.

* * *

**Next:** Jack's plans collide with Nina's commission.


	3. Naught But a Humble Friar

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of the Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

A/N: This story is part of the King's Messenger series, and is the sequel to **POTC: Barbossa and the King's Messenger** and **How Many Miles to Babylon?**

* * *

**Naught But a Humble Friar**

The roiling mob swept me along, pulling me sideways and scraping my back across the rough wall behind me. Unable to free my arms, I blinked helplessly through the sweat that ran down my face and stung my eyes. My only thought was survival. Any attempt to turn forward in that swaying mass would risk a fatal stumble, and a hundred rough boots and knees would make short work of me.

Balance was impossible. With each lurch forward, the press of people jostled me closer to the floor. I could see how this would end, and fear was followed by a sense of inevitability. My fatigue had a voice, and it was urging me to let go, to just give in. I couldn't keep fighting. It was too much. I was no King's Messenger. Hector was right – I was only a daft baggage.

His old insult, long forgiven, suddenly jolted my pride and anger. I would never bow to that scornful judgement – I would prove him wrong if it took my last breath! Neither the Bitters nor the Teagues had ever produced a daughter who was a daft baggage, and I was damned if I would be the first.

Thrashing and kicking, I managed to stay upright. Close by, a nasty stairwell made a dark hole in the granite, and the surging flow of rioters was dragging me in that direction. I kept close to the wall, gritting my teeth and wrenching anonymous hands out of my hair. The granite wall rubbed across places where my skin was already raw.

As I came abreast of the stairs, the pressure of the swelling crowd popped me into the stairwell like a cork from a champagne bottle. Gasping, I tripped and sat down hard on the lower steps.

The stairs were nearly empty. Everyone seemed to be on the ground floor, caught up in the mob. For a moment I remained where I was, elbows propped upon a higher step, until a small stampede of perhaps forty well-shod, stockinged legs rushed down the steps and nearly ran over me as they joined the people below.

I jumped to my feet and sprinted up to the next floor.

At the top of the stairs, I stopped and held my breath, listening. I drew my scimitar and held it with both hands as I stepped carefully through the dark wards. But they were evidently not in use, and most cells were locked. At the end of one passage, light spilled through an open door. I came up to it stealthily, trying to stay in the shadows. There was silence. I leaned through the door; the cell was deserted.

Still in the passage, I again felt the peculiar crunch underfoot and glanced down. My stomach heaved. In the light from the cell, I could see what I had been walking on all this time.

"_Crawlers!_" The passage was alive with them. I jumped onto the relatively cleaner floor in the cell, stamping my boots to shake off the lice, shuddering with disgust.

Before surveying the cell, I forced myself to take a few calming breaths.

It was undoubtedly a rich man's cell, reserved for a Lord or merchant who could pay the gaolers for amenities such as fine furniture and windows to let in fresher air. A table was laid for ten or twelve guests, but the chairs had been toppled and victuals discarded, likely by the men who had rushed down the steps.

I discerned a change in the noise of the mob outside; the rioting horde must be moving towards the main entrance. There would be violent attacks up and down the street on that side; it would be safer to try another way out.

I stared at the cutlery; small knives were always handy. I collected four, and used a fork to pry a good-sized nail from the floor. My uncle had taught me very well indeed.

Through the cell's window I glimpsed a narrow side yard and beyond it, a spiked outer wall twenty feet high. Getting over the wall looked quite arduous, perhaps impossible. As I debated whether to look further, I noticed the faint odour of smoke. Had someone started a fire in the prison? The yard and the wall began to look quite attractive.

I seized the tablecloth, sending dishes flying as I tore it off the table. Then I ran.

A staircase at the far end of Newgate brought me to an outer door. It was locked, and there was almost no light; but lock-picking is not done by sight. Using the nail I had pried up, I worked by sound and touch, and the lock yielded to me.

I crossed the empty yard at a run, and reached the wall. Testing the edges of its granite blocks revealed little crevices where my fingers could grip, but few places for a foothold. The old wooden gates offered nothing, but their iron hinges were more promising – four of them, bolted into the wooden gateposts.

I wedged one of the knives in the crack between the post and the gate, just over the lowest hinge. It stuck fast, and held my weight. I wedged a second knife farther up, as I clung to the wall and the hinge, then hoisted myself higher. Working slowly, I finally reached the top, with fingers torn bloody and muscles burning from the strain.

Perched with a leg on each side of the wall, I tore the tablecloth into two strips which I tied together and secured on one of the wall's palings. I lowered myself down the cloth as far as possible, and then dropped to the street. Weak and out of breath, I propped myself against the wall with one hand.

"Oi! You!"

I turned towards the cry.

Jack was approaching from the main road, accompanied by the friar, who was still shackled and cowering under the hood of his habit.

Relief washed through me and I stumbled towards them. "Oh, Jack - thank God! You've found him!" Then I stopped; my prisoner was much shorter than I recalled. I peered at his face, then yanked off the black hood.

Garbed in the monk's habit, wearing my manacles on his wrists, Lazaro Bolivar "Smith" showed his crooked yellow teeth in a delighted grin.

The blood drained from my face. "You? _You!_ . . . how . . ." But it was quite obvious _how_. I planted myself squarely in front of Jack.

"Where is my prisoner?" I demanded. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Lazaro was t' swing tomorrow, love," Jack replied. "So I fixed it. Told 'im I would."

"And what did you tell _me, _Jack? _'I'll help you get him, love',_ wasn't it? The King ordered me- I had a bloody warrant..." I broke off, patting my filthy clothes. "Brilliant! I've lost it!"

Jack pulled something from his pocket and jerked a thumb at Lazaro. "Couldn't get 'im out without a warrant, savvy? Here y' go, safe as houses."

He held out the document, but I crossed my arms. "What's the point of it _now_? Do I save it for my next trip to Newgate?"

"Ah, it's not as bad as all that, mouse," he said, coaxing me. "By the by," he went on, throwing an arm across my sore shoulders, "You made quite an impressive escape! They say no one breaks out of Newgate."

"Oh, do they now?" I shrugged off his arm. "Evidently they forgot to tell me or Brother Sombra, since we both seem to have managed it."

Jack held up both hands. "Alright, alright, darlin'. I'll help you find 'im. Fair enough?"

"No! Our ship's already gone! I was to take him to Cuba!" I put my hands over my face for a moment and sighed. It was no use. Jack didn't understand; it was time to take him into my confidence.

Composing myself as best I could, I told him everything: my orders, the need to reach Cuba, the exchange, the royal agent's mission, the gold, recovering the lost ship, and how Jack's rescue scheme had brought everything to smash.

My brother listened, frowning. When I finished, he tilted his head back, and studied me with half-closed eyes. "You said . . . a vast amount of gold?"

I stifled an urge to laugh. As always, it came down to profit. "Yes, vast. Staggering, in fact! And I'll share it if you help me. For a start, I need to arrest this friar and take him to Havana."

Jack quickly sealed our accord with a handshake and sent Lazaro off to the _Pearl_, to tell Mr Gibbs that Captain Sparrow would arrive in a few days. I was handed the bundledup habit.

Jack walked with me as far as the Golden Lion, where he persuaded me to join him for a tot of rum. "To celebrate our venture," he said.

"You'll have to pay for the both of us," I said. "My last sixpence went for passage to the Indies and I can't get it back. I've no money left."

A red-haired young wench brought a bottle and two tankards to our table, and lingered, giving Jack beguiling looks until he shooed her away. Once our tankards were full, he turned to the matter at hand.

"Now . . . Brat . . . _I_ know that _you_ know there's no English ship that can take you to Havana. Spain keeps a tight grip on that prize. They'd blow us to pieces before we laid eyes on the harbour." He took a long swallow of rum. "So, you were planning to go . . . where?"

"Someplace near enough that I can slip over to Santo Domingo and board a Spanish ship." I resisted naming the _someplace_, knowing what he would say.

"So it's Tortuga, eh?" The corners of Jack's mouth turning up in a wry smile. "Any plans t' see your dearly beloved? He's sure to stop gallivantin' once you turn up."

I narrowed my eyes and Jack saw the storm brewing in them.

"No worries, darlin'. Tortuga it is," he said quickly. "I've got the _Pearl_ anchored near Brighton." He couldn't hide a grin. "Just like the old days, innit?" I saw him wink past me at the red-haired lass, who was observing him from a distance, swaying her hips.

He promised to meet me the next morning to search for Brother Sombra, and we bade each other good-night. I knew that morning would come late for Jack, after he made a night of it with the comely barmaid, but by noon I still had no word from him.

I grew more and more restless. How could I permit Jack to baulk me in this way? I was doing nothing while my prisoner was getting further from my grasp every minute.

All I had was the bundled up habit Lazaro had given me. Perfect - Brother Sombra would be dressed like any ordinary Londoner by now, melting into the crowd, never to be seen again.

Brother Shadow, indeed.

I tried to think what Captain Harry would have done, and my useless pacing ceased when I arrived at the answer: my uncle would have made it his business to learn everything he could about the friar.

I eyed the bundle, then quickly unfolded it and shook out the habit. There was nothing more than the habit itself and the rope used to tie it. Oddly, there was no rosary, no cross, nor anything of a popish nature. Was my prisoner really a friar? Then it struck me that he had never actually spoken to me. Did he even understand English?

I sat at the writing table and eventually I had a short list of questions before me. At least one could be answered by a certain author whose works included a guide to London.

Defoe welcomed me into his front room, which resembled nothing so much as a disorderly study. It was difficult to avoid staring at his collections of desiccated fruits, carved masks and odd seeds from the farthest corners of the earth.

"Do forgive the interruption," I told Defoe. "I have urgent need of help, and I believe you can provide it."

He was discreet enough not to pry. "Of course; you have only to ask."

"Are there any popish abbeys or monasteries hereabouts?"

His eyes widened and he shook his head, no.

I thought for a moment. "Then, what about other places where a Spanish friar might feel safe from arrest? Churches? Embassies?"

"Quite a number," he replied. "Can you give me anything more?"

I hadn't got much, but there was one more detail. "Not too far from Newgate prison."

He looked up at the ceiling, then pushed out his lower lip as he looked back down at the floor. "Latinate tongues are similar," he said. "The Sardinian embassy lies near Lincolns' Inn Fields." He brightened. "On a property once owned by the Franciscans, in fact. There is supposed to be a Roman chapel behind it." He looked through a few sheaves of papers from which he produced an address and a little sketch.

I breathed a sigh and felt my shoulders relax. Everything began to fit – this was surely my best hope. "I'm so very obliged to you, Mr Defoe," I said, and made for the door.

"Wait!" he cried. "I had forgot something given me by Captain Bitter for safekeeping." He opened a box and removed a small, much damaged, leather-bound volume, which he offered me.

"Please keep it safe for now," I said. "I shall collect it as soon as possible." Then I rushed back to my rooms.

Still no Jack. I checked my duffel once more. I needed answers from Jack, and I vowed to wrest several more answers from the friar once he was in my custody. This prisoner exchange was nothing like the usual process; nothing was adding up properly.

At midnight I was awakened by Jack's knock at my door. He stepped into the front room as if it were a rolling deck, clutching a bottle of rum in each hand.

"Provisions, love," he informed me. "Very important."

I bit back several remarks that entered my mind, and quickly put my questions to him. Did the friar speak English? Yes, but with a heavy accent. Where were the usual rosary beads and cross? Jack had granted his request to retain them.

"Perhaps he's praying 'e don't get caught," he suggested with a smirk.

I armed myself, then handed Jack the address and sketch. "Let's start here."

We left the Minories and made our way down Tower Hill. London wasn't truly sleeping, it was tossing fitfully with the noise and bustle of people working, carousing, whoring, fighting, and engaged in mysterious and secret ventures, as were Jack and I.

The odour of fish grew stronger as we walked along Thames Street. When we reached Billingsgate, fish were already being laid out upon benches to be ready for the morning market.

Jack nudged me and nodded at the fish-jousters – stout, pipe-smoking women shouting back and forth in rough voices amongst the little stalls. "Good with knives, the lot of 'em," he advised me. "Mind yourself."

Putting the fish market behind us, we travelled along Cannon Street past the Lord Mayor's house. At the beginning of Fleet Street stood the grisly Temple Bar. One look, and I lowered my gaze from the spikes that crowned it and the gruesome burdens impaled there.

"Almost there, love," said Jack in his breezy way.

A little further and we found ourselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields. The Sardinian Embassy stood at the end of Portugal Row, and backed on to Duke Street. It was not an imposing edifice by any means; it almost seemed like a private house.

We circled around to the back, and discovered the door to the chapel. "Now for it," said Jack.

I gripped my pistol, almost touching the trigger, but did not draw. I was suddenly fearful that we were on a wild goose chase. The law of averages would prevail. The chapel would be empty.

Jack eased the door open and we entered quietly.

A cry, cut off almost instantly, came from the front of the chapel amid groans and the muffled sound of a dull blow. Darting forward, we came upon a friar crouched over the unconscious body of Brother Sombra. The attacker glared, and the flash of a blade caught my eye. He leapt towards us. Jack and I both fired on him, and he fell to the floor.

"Rum sort of chapel," Jack muttered.

I held out a hand for silence. "Listen." We both strained to hear. "There's no one, anywhere. Don't they have chaplains or something?"

Jack gave a low whistle. "Well, that's unusual." He was looking at the floor where the contents of the strange man's pocket had spilled: ten gold cobs. "Robbin' the poor box, I suppose?" He scooped up the coins and glanced at the man's feet. "Bloody expensive boots."

They were very fine indeed. With the barrel of my pistol, I lifted the hem of his habit. He was dressed in sumptuous clothes that no friar would have worn or could afford. I counted the weapons I could see and looked up at Jack. "He's no friar. He's a paid assassin."

"Look!" Jack cried out. My prisoner had lunged to his feet and was running towards a door to the right of the altar.

I chased him as though my life depended on it. He would have escaped, but beyond the door was a long flight of steps. As he descended awkwardly, his habit trailed behind him. I lunged at the hem, banging my elbow as I skidded down the steps. One swift yank, and I brought Brother Sombra down in a heap.

Out of breath, and furious at the trouble he had caused, I made him sit against a wall, my weapon pointed at his nose. "_No te muevas, Hermano, o te voy a matar."_ I grinned at his evident alarm, and yelled over my shoulder. "Jack!"

Jack was already on his way down to us, and together we put my shackles on Brother Sombra. We led him back up to the chapel, but stopped at the door.

The chapel was empty. If not for the pool of blood on the floor, I would have thought we had imagined the assassin. I turned to my prisoner and spoke in English. "Who is that man? Who wants to kill you? Apart from me?"

"No one," he replied. What a foolish lie to tell me. But now I knew that he understood my language. I would need to watch my words around him.

I reloaded my pistol as I instructed him. "We have some distance to walk. I advise you against making any effort to escape. If you do, I may let you go."

I looked straight into his eyes, willing him to take my meaning. "And if you go, then you will be all alone when the next assassin turns up."

We set out for the Minories, walking almost the entire way in silence with my nowdocile prisoner between us. It was just before daybreak when we arrived.

We allowed the prisoner a few hours' rest on the campaign cot. First Jack stood guard and I slept on the settle, then we traded places. Watching my prisoner sleep, I wondered what sort of odd exchange this could be.

Who would exchange a simple friar for a dangerous and privileged royal agent? Why was it being done so secretly, and who had tried to kill him? What was this agent's mission in the Caribbean? I have always hated unanswered questions, and so many were plaguing me that I was quite relieved when Jack's snoring awakened Brother Sombra.

I pulled a chair close to the cot. My uncle would have asked easy questions first, I knew. He would have put this fellow in an agreeable humour before mentioning touchier matters.

I smiled, trying to look as though I meant it, and handed him a tankard of rum. "Good morning. Not exactly a featherbed, but I'll wager you slept better here than at Newgate." I could not read the expression in his eyes as he downed the rum.

We watched each other steadily. "Are you hungry? I can send to the tavern for food." "_Gracias, señora. Mil gracias_," he nodded, murmuring into the tankard.

"Does your head hurt? That was quite a blow that fellow gave you. Do you want me to bind it?"

"_No necessito_ _– ah, perdone_: it is not necessary, thank you," he replied.

"Here is your other habit." I placed it on the cot. He regarded it warily but said nothing.

"I know more about you than you think," I said in a conversational tone. "I know you are a thief and a clever man, and you fear being handed to the Spanish authorities. Why don't you tell me your version of events? Why are you in my custody? Who are you?" "Hermano Sombra, as it says on your warrant—" he began, but I interrupted.

"Yes, I know what's on the warrant." I leaned forward intently, my hands gripping the seat of my chair. "I meant, when you are not posing as a friar." He darted his eyes away from me, but I was not finished.

"Be assured that, as matters now stand, you are going to Havana, where I will hand you over."

I leaned back, tilting my head to the side. "Perhaps King Felipe thinks a Hanoverian agent is worth trading for a humble friar. But I don't think so. And simple friars are not killed in church. Unless you claim to be Saint Thomas À Becket."

My prisoner was showing signs of discomfort, breathing a bit harder and shifting his weight back and forth. It was time to make him confide in me, and I addressed him earnestly. "This may be your only chance to show me you're something more than a thieving, lying miscreant. Show me – and I might decide to help you."

He did not answer right away. He gazed at me with dark, melancholy eyes, then shrugged. "I was never skilled at lies," he said with a rueful smile. "I took Holy Orders long ago, but . . . " He shook his head. "I am Padre Augustin Maroto."

I stopped him. "Did I understand you to say you're a priest?"

He looked pained. "For some time, my life has taken a different path. But if you insist on turning me over to Spain, who I am will matter very little, save on my headstone."

"Why? Did you steal something from your King?"

His dark eyes flashed indignation. "Do you think a crown makes a man good?" he retorted. "They want something from me, something they have no right to."

My hopes of getting at an answer were dashed just then by a series of knocks upon the door. Jack opened his eyes, and looked at me.

"Probably Mr Singleton," I said. Jack rose and opened the door a crack.

He slammed it shut, spun about and leaned against it with his back, white-faced. "No one there."

More knocks – angry this time. "Jack! Open the door!" Elizabeth's shouts were muted.

"Wrong house - Jack's not here," he answered in a fair imitation of a lady's voice. The door thudded. "Now she's kickin' the bloody thing," he complained. "If you let her in she'll break up the room."

I pushed him aside. "I thought you were friends."

"We are," Jack said darkly. "But it's always trouble when she turns up."

I opened the door.

Elizabeth was dressed nearly as roughly as myself. She picked up the bag at her feet and swept into my rooms. "I'm not here to see you, Jack," she told him.

Then she turned to me. "I'm going with you to make your prisoner exchange. I refuse to remain alone in that house. It's being watched by one or more people, and I don't like the look of them."

I glanced at Maroto. "Are they Spaniards?"

She shook her head. "English, as far as I can tell."

Jack cleared his throat. "I regret to tell you that you can't go with us, love. We'll be sailing on the _Pearl_ – of which you recall I am the captain – and two passengers is my limit, not three."

"I won't stay where it isn't safe - I'm expecting a baby!" she said indignantly.

"So technically it's four," Jack replied with a flourish of his arms. "Even worse." Ignoring him, Elizabeth handed me a heavy leather purse. "That's the money from the diamonds and my investment as well – the amounts are tallied on a receipt in the purse."

I seized on my chance to escape. "I'll just take this up to Mr Singleton." As I ascended the stairs, I could hear Jack and Elizabeth continuing to argue. If this was merely the beginning of my errand, I could scarcely bring myself to contemplate what else might lie ahead.

* * *

**Next:** En route to the West Indies, Nina begins to sense that Jack may be in danger.


	4. A Glimpse of the Past

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of the Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

A/N: This story is part of the King's Messenger series, and is the sequel to **POTC: Barbossa and the King's Messenger** and **How Many Miles to Babylon?**

* * *

**A Glimpse of the Past**

Defoe's grown daughters sometimes visited him, and I was not surprised when the door was answered by a young woman with an infant in her arms. "Father had a touch of gout this morning," she said. "I'll fetch him for you."

She saw the curious looks I gave her young charge. "His name is Samuel," she smiled. "Would you like to hold him?"

Her offer startled me, but I could not refuse a proud mother's generosity. She handed him over and went to fetch Defoe.

I stood immobile, gingerly holding a baby for the first time in my life. But as the little one settled his weight peacefully into my arms, something very odd took place.

Gazing at Samuel's mild little face slowly calmed my nerves. Something was working upon my mood that was utterly alien to me. It took a moment to grasp its name, but at last I knew - it was hope. My usual belief that the worst would always happen subtly gave way to the idea that the world might not turn out so badly after all.

I only realised Defoe had appeared when he spoke to me from the doorway. "Young Samuel seems to approve of you, Mistress Bitter," he remarked. I looked up, very discomfited, and handed the little one back to his mother.

I gave Defoe all of Elizabeth's money and most of mine, keeping some back for my travelling expenses. He promised to send our share of the profits to The Faithful Bride, and then made sure I understood the practical aspects of my messenger orders.

"Do your companions understand the obligations and trials of such a journey?" he asked.

I glanced at the floor and smiled, thinking of Jack. "One of them does." Then I quickly bade him farewell and hurried downstairs to finish my preparations.

In the front room, Jack and Elizabeth were still arguing. "There's no reasoning with her," Jack complained the moment I arrived.

I invited Elizabeth out to the hallway and explained the duties that bound me.

"What I'm obliged to do may prove too arduous for an expectant mother," I said, ticking off each duty on my fingers. "Once I begin my journey, I am expected to keep the quickest pace possible, hellish weather or no, until I am too exhausted to go on. Also, I'm to guard my prisoner day and night, or pay others to guard him. I shall be a target for robbers and murderers. When I reach my destination, it is my duty to place myself under the orders of the nearest King's representative – and I have no notion of what I may happen after that."

"And?" she replied, raising an eyebrow.

I struggled to find more reasons. "We will be riding horses tonight, somewhere between ten and sixteen hours, all the way to Brighton without a stop. It will be freezing cold, probably stormy. We could be waylaid by highwaymen . . . your horse could fall in the dark . . . and there's . . . paperwork."

This last reason made me feel quite stupid, but I had run short of arguments.

She looked unimpressed. "I can guard your prisoner better than Jack and you know it. Why take him and not me?"

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. "To begin with, Jack has a ship! And Jack – well, Jack knows all the rules. Foreign service messengers always take a trusted companion who can act in their stead. My uncle and father worked that way, and Jack and I shall do the same."

She thought a moment, then offered a compelling inducement. "Jack may have the _Pearl_, but I have a coach and four at the Golden Lion. You'll get to the _Pearl _much faster. But you must agree to my going as well." The prudent choice was to use a coach and she knew it.

I sighed. "Very well." At least she had not tried to use her authority as the Pirate King to order me about.

We returned to my rooms where Jack waited, looking hopeful. I shook my head. "You've lost. Elizabeth is coming with us."

I strode past him ignoring his protests. The air was getting colder, and I rummaged through my uncle's belongings to find anything that would ward off the chill. I found a flannel-lined, long-skirted riding coat and a Turkish _shulwar kameez_ or two, which I took down to Mrs Hutson to be cut down to a more reasonable size. In the end, I drew the _shulwars_ on over fleecy stockings and cotton and chamois drawers, and tucked the cut edges into my boots. I wore the _kameez_ under my riding coat, and girded myself with as many weapons as I could carry. Around my neck I tied a warm shawl that could be drawn up over my head. My lighter clothes were packed in the duffel.

Jack whistled at the strange figure I presented. "All you need is a bit of dirt and grime an' you'll look a proper Tatar," he grinned.

At about four o'clock the sun was setting, and we were ready to depart. Jack remained with Maroto while Elizabeth and I directed her coach to Rosemary Lane. As soon as it drew up, Jack, Elizabeth, Maroto and I ran towards it through the alley and jumped in. The moment the door banged shut, we were off to Brighton at a very smart rate.

Just after crossing London Bridge, there came the noise of a heavy downpour pelting the coach. I peered out the window at a curtain of icy rain, through which I could dimly make out the wind-tossed branches of trees in the darkening night. I looked over at Elizabeth. "I'm in your debt. The roads must be awful by now. Without your coach we'd be having quite a time of it."

Jack instantly qualified my expression of thanks. "No need for modesty, Brat," he said, "You know we've come through worse." Then he fixed Elizabeth with a superior smile, and added, "In fact, we love bad weather. If you're followed, it's generally obvious, because no other traveler-"

He glanced out the back window and stopped talking. When he settled back into his seat, I could read the look in his eyes.

"How many?" I said.

"Just one. On a horse. And don't go askin' me if it's an Englishman or a Spaniard." He drummed his fingers for a moment, then settled down to stare through the side window.

After a short time, his manner became cheery. "Half a mo'. Anyone hungry? Let's stop here."

He thrust his head out the window and shouted for the coach to stop. As we drew to a halt, the outlines of a post house were visible through the downpour.

Elizabeth balked. "We've barely started! I'm not hungry."

"That's a sure sign that, in fact, you are hungry," Jack explained briskly, throwing open the door. He practically pushed us out, yet he remained behind, crouched down in the coach. As we crossed through the mud to the taproom, Elizabeth started to look back.

"Don't," I cautioned her. "He's up to something. Act as if we were the only passengers."

We sat at a table with Maroto between us, and ordered supper. Only one man came in after that – most certainly he was the horseman Jack had spied following us. He looked around and, appearing not to notice us, strode to the bar and ordered a bottle.

"That's the one?" asked Elizabeth, without turning.

I nodded my head. "I think so."

Twenty minutes later, I saw Jack weaving a path across the taproom with a thin leather cord in his hand, only to vanish about halfway across the room. "Like a bloody magician," I muttered under my breath.

After a few moments, Maroto coughed and spoke to me in Spanish. "_Creo que tu amigo quiere que nos vayamos_."

I looked up and saw Jack directing a meaningful stare at me. He tilted his head towards the door, and then quickly left the room.

"We're off," I said to Elizabeth and Maroto. "Now!"

I feared that our pursuer would be upon us before we got out the door, but I needn't have worried. As we rushed out of the taproom, I heard a terrific crash, and glanced back to see an upturned table surrounded by angry patrons, and the mysterious man trying to free his boot from a thin leather cord.

As we set off in the coach once again, I thanked Jack. "But he won't be stopped for long. He'll catch us again."

"No harm in 'im trying, love," Jack grinned. "He should get well down the road before he loses his saddle. If the reins don't go first."

We made Brighton in nine hours, and the rain had cleared by the time we arrived. Jack took us into the Druid's Head, where we found Lazaro and Mr Gibbs. Several empty rum bottles on the table revealed how they had passed the time whilst awaiting our arrival.

We seated ourselves, save for Jack, who made ready to order more rum. He rubbed his palms together, and turned towards the bar, only to pivot back instantly. With a slight lurch, he grabbed the table's edge with both hands, his black-rimmed eyes wide with alarm.

"Time to weigh anchor, Mr Gibbs!" he snapped. "Step lively, all of you!"

He hurried us out of the taproom and into the longboat, even taking oars himself to ensure our departure was as swift as possible. Elizabeth and I exchanged puzzled looks, but no explanation was forthcoming.

Once on board, we locked Maroto in the brig and settled into our quarters. Jack strode about the _Pearl's_ deck calling orders, and the crew lost no time in setting her sails and heaving up anchor. At last, with the jib hoisted and the topsails sheeted properly, we set off with a fair, rattling breeze, bound for the Indies at last.

I stood on the deck for a long time, peering forward into the dark, as if my longing for Hector could somehow increase the speed of our ship. Then I fetched a bottle of rum from the captain's stores and made my way to Jack's quarters.

When I entered the day room, I found my brother engaged in poring over Sao Feng's maps. Elizabeth had already retired to her cabin, which left the way clear for a frank discussion with Jack.

After a few minutes, he looked up from the map. "Maddeningly unhelpful, still."

"Perhaps it'll look better in the morning." I shrugged and poured some rum into his tankard. "Or there's a trick to working it. That's often the case."

I watched as he tossed down the rum. "You know, I don't think I've ever known you to leave a taproom without having a drink."

Our eyes met and I saw that he understood my unspoken question.

"You mean the Druid's Head," he replied. I was surprised to see how uncomfortable he looked.

"I don't suppose you noticed anyone there that looked…Seville-ish?" he ventured. "A…female Sevillian…of the opposite sex?"

A light dawned on me. "You thought you saw one of your damsels! How do you even remember them all?"

"Aye, and I don't," he said, answering both questions at once. "But-awkward circumstances, y'know…"

"And who made them awkward?" I laughed and shook my head. "Oh, Jack, this world is littered with the broken hearts you left behind. I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything."

"Just imagining things, I expect, then. But this is most definitely not imaginary." He pulled something from his pocket and set a small gilded rosette on the table. "From the bridle of our follower. A double bridle. You know what that means."

The rosette bore the royal cypher, surmounted by a crown. I looked quickly at Jack. "The royal stables! I mean-all you can really say is that the bridle comes from the royal mews."

He nodded. "Aye. But then, where did the horse and rider come from, I wonder. The king? Unlikely. Someone at court?"

I sat staring at the little rosette, and Jack leaned towards me. "If you want to know who your prisoner really is, darlin', find out who's hunting him. Someone's got their eye on Maroto."

Jack's words kept me tossing and turning that night, and when I finally slept, I dreamed of Orion once again. Dawn found me pacing the deck. My prisoner, Jack's map, even my nightmare – all pressed me for answers, and I was beginning to be concerned for Jack's safety. Perhaps it was Jack, not Maroto, who was being hunted.

At last I decided to leave unworldly matters to sort themselves. I resolved to discover Maroto's story.

He looked a bit green when I arrived with his breakfast, and so I had him released and brought up to the main deck. For those who are unfortunate enough to suffer from sea-sickness, any location below deck will bring on their dreadful ailment. Poor Maroto could only lie upon the deck at first, but he gradually recovered enough to be coaxed into walking a bit, with one hand upon the rail.

This wouldn't do at all. I reproached myself for not being sufficiently attentive to my prisoner – who, after all, was only required to be transported and guarded, not punished by poor accommodations. I roused Jack, Mr Gibbs, and the_ Pearl's_ carpenter, Mr Cheesewright, and called a council in the captain's day room. By dint of moving one partition, adding another, and putting some of Jack's stores in a lazarette beneath his cabin, we created a tiny cabin for Maroto at deck-level with a door that could be locked.

I promised Maroto plenty of time to take the air on deck each day, but told him he would always be under guard. This seemed to improve matters, and, hoping to gain his trust, I made it a point to walk the deck with him whenever possible.

On these promenades, we chatted together in Spanish, and I gradually formed a good opinion of him. Maroto's ability to sympathise with those around him extended even to pirates, and his manner, while refined, was easy and unaffected. Half-joking, I asked him one morning if it did not trouble a priest to find himself in such dangerous and debauched company.

My question brought a gentle smile to his face. "But where do you think a priest should go?" he asked. "Wherever there are souls in darkness, there lies danger. And that is exactly where I must be. I am not needed where there is no danger."

The only topic upon which I could not draw him was his family. He spoke vaguely of being the son of a great captain who had made a fortune as a Spanish privateer, and having an ancestor who had committed _un mal significativa_, but beyond that he was elusive. I decided to practice my Spanish, hoping to improve my skills as a questioner. I began to spend time in my cabin, translating the little journal I had been given years ago by Edward Teague.

I had kept the note tucked inside, "_For dear Nina, who loves the study of language. Practice makes perfect. From her loving Father._" How many changes had taken place since then! Feeling guilty that I had neglected it for so long, I opened the journal and began deciphering the faded ink.

_I have served the Royal Crown faithfully in these parts of the Indies, by order of the Catholic King, and now favours are to be given to me because of my present impoverished state._

I translated the date on the page_. Ten days of the month of February of one thousand five hundred and twenty-one years._

That explained everything - the writing, the peculiar style, and the misshapen, mildewed binding. Why had I been given it? To challenge my language skills? "Practice makes perfect" indeed, especially if I needed to converse with any two hundred year old Spaniards. I sighed and decided to trust my father, at least for the moment.

The first few pages were concerned with some secret accord between the writer and a noble who acted for King Ferdinand. There were many references to a Diego Colòn, who appeared to have been some sort of political adversary, and perhaps this was the reason for the secrecy. The writer was planning to take a small ship on a voyage to discover some tonic for the miserable health of the Spanish workers, so that the riches from the Indies could be produced quicker for Spain.

My eyelids had begun to droop. Reading this would be no easy task, and I hoped things would become livelier once the explorers set sail. I put the book aside and went in search of Jack.

"Find out who he is yet?" Jack asked the moment I entered the day room.

I dropped into a chair, utterly frustrated. "All I know is that he's damned determined not to be handed over to Spain. I can't understand why – he definitely appears to be Spanish."

"Perhaps he's a heretic," Jack suggested with a grin.

"I did get one thing out of him. He said something about his ancestor committing a great wrong." I stared idly at the map on the table and waved my hand at it. "Still not working?"

"Seems neither one of us is getting anywhere, don' it?" He tipped a rum bottle over his tankard and two or three drops fell. "Hmmh. Tell you what – you have a look at the bloody map while I find Gibbs."

Alone with the map, I moved its layers round and round. The map did not resemble the ones by which we sailed – the land masses were all distorted and nearly unrecognizable. I looked up at the sound of the door and saw that Elizabeth had just entered the room.

"If you're looking for Jack, he's gone to find Mr Gibbs." I looked back at the map, expecting her to leave, but she stared at the table and came closer.

"Sao Feng's map! I might have known," she said. "Has he discovered how it works?"

"Apparently, it doesn't," I replied. "But Jack thinks it leads to the Fountain of Youth."

"It leads many places," she said very seriously. "I'm not sure even Sao Feng himself knew all of them. But you can't just use it like a regular map."

I moved the circles around again. "So I see."

"No, I mean there's more than the map at work," Elizabeth explained. "Somehow it uses things like fate and chance. It hides and reveals things according to your destiny."

"So if you're not meant to get to the Fountain, it won't lead you there?" I sat back. "There's no use my trying to read it then. Have you made a study of these things? Magic and all?"

"No. I was thrown into it when Barbossa came after the medallion," she said. "Everything I've learnt came after that."

Perhaps she knew something about dreams. That would resolve at least one worry for me. "Can you tell the meaning of dreams? I've had the same troublesome dream about a constellation for years. Am I supposed to sail by those stars or something?"

"I couldn't say. What constellation is it?" she asked.

"Orion."

"Well, that certainly makes sense, given your close ties to the sea."

I looked at her blankly.

"But don't you remember?" she asked, surprised. "Orion was the son of Poseidon."

* * *

**Next:** Maroto begins to give up his secrets, and the _Pearl_ reaches Tortuga.


	5. The Blood Is the Life

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**The Blood Is the Life**

Elizabeth was right; Orion's father was Poseidon. What could have made me forget it, when sailors are so often called "Sons of Poseidon"? I spent the next week mulling over the vague sense of warning in my dream, but I could make no sense of it. It was as maddeningly unhelpful as Jack's mystical map.

But Orion did not trouble me nearly as much as did the small Spanish journal. Each time I touched it I had the feeling I was somehow trespassing.

The first time I opened its leather binding my fingertips had detected a faint, pulsating force almost as though the book were alive. A folded square of parchment had been glued inside its cover. It was too fragile to be unfolded completely, but part of a strange little map was visible. _Cuidad Blanca_, it proclaimed. Innocent enough on the face of it. I gently removed the map from the journal.

Ignoring the tension in my shoulders, I read parts of the journal each night, and gradually I began to understand the voyage being described.

Most entries concerned the mundane business of readying the ship. But the book also repeated many rumours that the Spaniards had heard - mostly concerning the medicinal properties of a spring called the Fountain of Bimini. And there were notes of a different sort - darkly hinting at subjects that made the hairs on my neck stand up.

There were strange references to ancient churches in Ephesus, secret rites, and other things that discomfited me. It wasn't that the antique words were difficult to translate – quite the contrary. It was that they were frighteningly clear. There was no possible way to deny their meaning. _Lágrima de merata_. A mermaid's tear. _Cáliz_. A chalice. And most disturbingly, _sacrificio de sangre_. A blood sacrifice.

Explorers or not, it was clear that they were preparing for what seemed a very nasty undertaking.

I wondered what Maroto would make of it. Perhaps he would think the book was possessed. In any case, I did not trust him enough to refer to such a thing, evenly obliquely.

Two weeks after we departed Tenerife for Tortuga, I was walking about the deck with Maroto as I did each day. His hour of exercise was nearly over, and I had hardly spoken a word. Instead, I walked with my head lowered, absorbed by thoughts of the journal. I gave a heavy sigh, and Maroto darted a sidelong glance at my grim expression.

"_Mira – un albatros!_" he said, trying to divert me. I raised my head and he pointed in the general direction of the clear blue winter sky.

I could discern the silhouette of the bird's long, pointed wings as it hovered far above us. "An albatross is bad luck, Padre," I murmured, and dropped my head as I returned to my inner musings.

My unusually aloof manner must have puzzled him; he tried once more to engage me. "How did you come to be involved in this work, _señora_?"

His question caught me off guard, and I mustered the vaguest answer I could. "I made a solemn promise that duty and honour oblige me to carry out."

He stopped short and turned to me. "Ah! Then you understand! I have taken a similar vow."

Something in his dark eyes told me I was about to learn more of him. Cautiously I replied: "Understand what? I'm not sure I take your meaning."

He drew his brows together and gazed as though he could see right into my heart. "I have told you that my ancestor committed a great sin," he said. "It was done in the service of his king, in order to find a certain treasure."

This did not impress me. The ancestor that so troubled Maroto was exactly like any other privateer. My interest flagged, and I stifled a yawn, but Maroto's face was serious. His eyes held my gaze.

"I have tried to atone. I became a friar and devoted my life to prayer." He hesitated. "But my ancestor had set a deadly peril loose in the world, and I have vowed to destroy it. You must not give me to the authorities - I alone know how to defeat this evil."

I laughed. "That's the reason I mustn't hand you over? Well, I call that most convenient! If this thing is so evil, why not warn everyone? Make your knowledge public!"

"But that is the very thing that must**_ not_** happen on any account!" Pinching his fingers together, he seemed poised to begin a lecture. "You must understand-"

"Your quest. Of course. Half the people I know are on quests, Padre, even Captain Sparrow. Although the object of his quest isn't saving the world – it's the Fountain of Youth."

Maroto's face grew pale. "You mustn't allow it, señora. Not if you care for your friend – it is too dangerous!"

"Oh, come now, Padre. Jack may do as he likes."

"Then may God protect him," Maroto replied. His words sent a shiver through me.

"What is this danger?" I was keen to hear what he knew, but he looked away from me and shook his head.

My face flushed with annoyance. "Oh, I see. You think I should pay you to tell me – by letting you go, perhaps?" What a fool he must be! He was only trying to fright me and buy his freedom by inventing a fanciful tale.

I was still somewhat put out after returning Maroto to his cabin. Even so, I did just look in on Jack. He was working the map.

"Still no luck," he said staring at its circles.

I made a half-hearted attempt to lessen his resolve. "What care you for a Fountain of Youth? You're young enough, I should think. Why not simply enjoy your life?"

He looked up from the map, black eyes glowing with delight as he answered. "Ah, but if you drink from the Fountain, you'll live forever, love."

My smile was less than enthusiastic.

He rose from his chair and threw an arm about my shoulders. "No worries – I'd save a bit for you, Brat. You're the only person I can trust."

His words touched me. The bonds of loyalty between us were strong, and in a flash I knew what I must do. If there was even a chance that the Fountain was truly dangerous, if there was a possibility that Maroto had got hold of some knowledge about it, I had to protect Jack. I would find out all I could from the Padre, and take action.

I started for the door.

"Not staying?" Jack looked at me quizzically.

"Paperwork." I stopped and turned to smile at him. "Remember when you taught me about the stars? Orion's dog running to help him?"

"Aye," he said, and laughed. "So you're playing the part of Sirius - off to protect me, then? You needn't worry, love – you were only ten when you made that promise."

I laughed with him, but hedged a bit. "It's only that I haven't forgot. You can count on me, Jack. Always." At last, I believed I understood my dream.

Back in my cabin, I hesitated. Maroto might want freedom in return for his information. Was that against my orders? I quickly scanned them, and was surprised that they only mentioned the release of the agent – they failed to specify the surrender of Maroto. Hector would have crowed over such a loophole.

If I could get the agent out of Havana by other means, then Maroto could go free.

Annoyingly, the agent's name was omitted. How was I to know whether I had got the right man? Perhaps it was listed on my Way Bill. I pulled out the large, rough paper.

It should have been quite simple: Augustin Maroto, listed by name, was in my custody on my trip out, with spaces for the date he would be released from my custody, and the date I took charge of the other man. Whose name, once again, was missing.

There was a knock on my door and Elizabeth popped in, looking thoughtful. "Sorry to barge in, but I wondered if you've had any glimpse of a strange ship – not nearby, but you can see her on the horizon."

"No – did you say anything to Deacon, or Jack?"

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath to suppress her annoyance. "Well, that's actually the trouble. It was only there for an instant, then it probably fell back. Of course, _they_ don't believe me because _they_ couldn't see it. They put it down to the baby making me imagine things."

I wondered if little Samuel Defoe had made his mother imagine things. Was that what happened when you fell pregnant? Better to reassure her in any event. "If it was on the horizon, that's miles away. Don't be anxious - I'll let you know if I see it."

Then I recalled that her father had been a Governor. "Do you by chance remember your father signing any Way Bills for prisoners and the like? Was anyone's name ever left off, like this?" I showed her the Way Bill.

"I can't really remember," she replied, and glanced over the Bill. "Hmm. Augustin del Maroto. Funny the way it's written isn't it?"

I looked at Maroto's name again and blinked hard. Why had I not noticed this? But it wasn't "del". The name actually read _Augustin de L. Maroto_. But according to the Spanish way of writing names, the mysterious "de L." was his proper surname.

"Actually, you've been quite helpful," I told her.

Way Bill in hand, I hurried to the brig.

Maroto was seated in his cell, and I addressed him through the bars. "I've thought about your vow, Padre, but I'm sorry to say it doesn't outweigh my obligation."

He looked disappointed, but did not speak. I brought a stool over and sat in front of the bars. "However, one hope remains for you. There is someone on this ship who matters more to me than any promise. If I believed that freeing you would protect his life, I would do so."

"If there is any chance..." he began.

"I am speaking honestly to you – I want no lies in return. Tell me why the Fountain is dangerous. Think before you reply." I slanted my eyes at him.

"Let us begin with your true name. Maroto is your mother's surname." I unfolded the Way Bill and pointed to his name. He looked at the Bill, then raised his eyes to meet mine. His voice was soft and he pronounced his name carefully, pausing slightly between each part.

"I am Augustin de Leon Maroto." He sighed. "_De Leon_. You understand what that means. It was none other than Ponce de Leon who committed the act I must undo."

And he revealed a most fascinating history.

"Ponce de Leon was sent on a secret voyage by King Ferdinand, who had taken a bride many years younger than he. The voyage was to discover the truth behind tales the Indians had told the Conquistadors of a fountain that could restore youth. The King wished to drink from its waters in hopes of regaining the power to sire an heir to his throne."

"He appointed my ancestor as a favour for his services, and also because there was bad blood between the de Leons and Diego Colòn." He paused. "You would say, 'Diego Columbus', in English. The King wished to help the de Leons without stirring the pot, so the voyage was clandestine."

There had to be a connection with the journal in my cabin. But the Fountain had been called something else. I probed a bit. "And so they sailed for the Fountain of Youth? _La Fuente de Juventud_?"

"Yes," he replied. "Although the name you use came later. They only knew it as _La Fuente de Bimini_."

The same name that was in the journal! An icy chill rippled through me, as though my blood was being drained away. "Go on," I said.

"Early in the voyage, they learned of ancient documents that told how the Fountain must be used. Under the spell of these documents, my ancestor, who had always been a good man, went to Ephesus, thence to Cartagena, and took two identical chalices from the old Christian churches by force. Then he set sail for a lost city called Cuidad Blanca. On the way, he had each chalice engraved with _Agua de Vita_." Maroto shook his head. "Perhaps it was a boast, perhaps it was to hide his sin. But now I come to the part you must understand, señora."

He leaned close to the bars and fixed his gaze on me. "The Fountain is a cheat – its promise is false. There is no Water of Life. You do not get life merely by water. The Ritual requires a living victim."

"Why?" I asked, my throat almost too dry to speak.

His voice sank to a whisper as he told me the horrific secret. "Because the blood is the life, señora. Just as it says in the Old Testament. The Fountain binds you to the world by stealing life from the blood of another, and devouring the one who is the sacrifice."

His words had shaken me, but the worst was yet to come. "They came to Cuidad Blanca and took many of its people for this purpose. The Ritual also required a mermaid's tear, so they captured and killed many mermaids. And in this way, all the years that the people of Cuidad Blanca would have lived were given to Ponce de Leon and his men."

"This would be evil enough in itself, but there is more. After they had sacrificed the victims and drunk from the chalices, they discovered the addictive power of the water. When their stolen years were nearly spent, an overpowering obsession consumed them, and they killed again, until the city became lost and abandoned, and mermaids swam in those waters no more. The only knowledge of this infernal Fountain was closely held by the de Leon family, who swore to find it and destroy it."

"Why can't you find it?" I managed to stammer.

"Many people tried to learn the secret for which my ancestor had sacrificed his soul. When I was a child, our house was robbed, and my ancestor's papers stolen. I had traced some to London, and that is why you found me in Newgate. Unfortunately, my information was wrong, and I still have not found what was stolen from my family."

I should have asked him for details, but I couldn't bear to hear what I suspected – that I held the prize he so desperately sought. My heart was thudding noisily in my breast and I could hardly connect two thoughts. I needed time to settle my mind and decide what to do.

I had one more question for him. "How long have you been on this quest? I mean, actively, not just praying about it?"

"Years, senora. Many, many years," he replied.

I nodded. "I shall give you my decision soon, Padre." Without another word, I made my way to the crow's nest.

"Knock off, Deacon. I'll take the rest of your watch," I said. Deacon scrambled down, only too pleased to have a bit of free time.

The crow's nest was the perfect place to sort out my thoughts unobserved. Just being perched high in the rigging was a tonic to me and gradually my pulse returned to normal. Perhaps Hector was less fanciful than I thought when he compared me to a bird.

I kept a weather eye on the horizon, but turned my attention to Maroto and the Fountain. He had repeated enough of the tales in my journal to convince me that he spoke the truth. The Fountain was a trap and Jack must be kept from it. Yet I knew that neither danger nor curses would stop him.

What about stealing Sao Feng's map and destroying it? But that was only one clue to the Fountain. My journal was another, and how many more books and maps might there be? Eventually, Jack would find the Fountain.

How could I keep him from harm?

There was only one way. Maroto was right: the Fountain had to be destroyed. I could not exchange Maroto. Instead, I would have to help him destroy the Fountain, without Jack's knowledge.

I decided to say nothing of the secret journal for now. I was inclined to think Maroto had not quite told me everything about his situation.

Just before the next watch was called, I heard the cry of the albatross. I squinted as I looked up quickly to see him flying nearly overhead. But I thought I saw a fleck of something on the horizon that might have been a ship.

I snatched up the glass and tried to get a better look, but there was nothing. Only empty ocean all round us, however hard I looked. My conversation with Elizabeth must have planted the notion in my mind. I looked west and thought of Tortuga.

For once, the name of that sordid town lightened my heart and lifted my spirits. I would find Hector there – I was sure of it. I closed my eyes and pictured a scene from my voyage to Tenerife the previous year, when Hector captained the _Royal Oak_.

I had approached him one late afternoon as he stood at the rail looking to the west. As vividly as if he stood before me came the memory. He had turned to me, happy and at ease; the sun still bright upon his face, his mouth drawing into a warm smile that invited me to his side. I felt my heart turn over in my chest, just as it had on that day. If I could have sprouted wings and flown to Tortuga, I would have taken flight that very moment. Feeling like every mournful ballad I had ever heard, I climbed down the ratlines and went to supper.

The next morning as I walked with Maroto, I proposed an accord. I would not turn him over to Spain, but only if he agreed to two conditions. He must help me free the King's agent, and then he must let me help him destroy the Fountain. And no one must know of our agreement.

"The last part won't be easy," I said. "When Jack finds out I'm not exchanging you, he'll want to know why. What am I to tell him?"

Maroto's dark eyes gleamed. "Tell him you are ransoming me to my family for enough gold to fill the hold of his ship."

I stared. "Is it true? How?"

"Yes, it is true," he replied. "I will explain it to you, and you can persuade Captain Sparrow when we reach Tortuga. I think he will accept my plan."

When we arrived in Tortuga, I scanned the harbour for any sign of the _Royal Oak_, but there was none. Faced with my disappointment, Jack avoided me, but Elizabeth offered encouragement. "If he knew you were here, he'd surely meet you," she said. "And you never know – he might turn up tomorrow!"

Jack rolled his eyes at this, and drew me aside. "He might turn up tomorrow, or six months from now," he assured me. "Tell ye what, Brat – I'm willin' to stay three or four days, in case your old scallywag shows 'is face. But after that, darlin', it's back t' work for the both of us, innit?" He patted my arm. "All agreed, then?"

There was no denying Jack's logic. Still, Tortuga lured him with its assortment of wenches, and I hoped to hear some news of Hector, so we decided to venture ashore at sunset.

Elizabeth was left in charge of the _Pearl_, having no interest in the town's entertainment. She had some advice for me however. "You should wear female attire, and attend to your appearance. Your husband hasn't seen you in months. There's no harm in dressing up a bit."

I took her advice, adding my scimitar and pistols. I had no illusions about Tortuga.

Later, walking through town with Jack, two odd figures seemed to appear wherever I looked. "Jack – I think some ruffians are stalking us."

"Anyone we know?" was his offhand reply.

"Absolutely not. One looks like an ogre and the other is small and slender, like a young woman."

Jack was not concerned. "Welcoming Committee, I expect."

The Faithful Bride had drawn Jack's footsteps like a magnet, and moments after we entered its taproom, he disappeared amongst the other customers. I had no wish to linger by myself in a crowd where every rogue was on the lookout for a wench. The tavern's card room was a better place for me. It was the only room where amorous services were trumped by a keener interest: gaming.

I looked for a likely card table with low stakes, avoiding games of hazard and other amusements. I bought a seat at a table, ordered my supper, and prepared to immerse myself in play, for three days if I had to.

After several hours, my table was joined by an older scallywag, who could have passed for a deranged brother of Pintel. He had been openly gawking at me for some time and, once seated, declared his suspicion that he had met me somewhere. His manner was rather threatening, and my fingers itched for my scimitar, but a dust-up would likely touch off a huge brawl. Better to put him off somehow without causing him to lose face.

I studied him with polite interest. "Were you ever in the West Country?"

"No," he admitted.

"Port Royal?"

"No." With each civil question, a bit of the wind went out of his sails.

"Hmm . . . I lived in Moldavia once. Have you ever been there?"

"No." He was lost now, trying to guess where I was leading him.

I laid my cards down on the table and kept my voice cool but pleasant. "What is your name, sir?"

He looked positively flattered. It had gone better than he hoped. "Name's Digger, miss."

"Well, Digger, my name is Nina." I extended my arm. "Pleased to meet you." We shook hands.

"Now, don't forget; you made my acquaintance in Tortuga." Still smiling, I picked up my cards. My direct stare told him that our discussion had reached its conclusion.

His dignity intact, he quit the table. Soon after, a scowling man who resembled a footpad took his place.

"Name's Pike," he told our table, and the game continued.

As we played on, a sensation like an electrical attraction made my skin tingle and drew my gaze to the door. Before I saw him, before I heard his voice, I knew that Hector was standing there, staring at me. The sensation grew stronger and my pulse quickened. One side of Hector's mouth suggested a slight smile. He walked over to the table and stood opposite me, behind Pike's chair.

He towered over the table, impossibly tall and elegant, and his pale visage stood out sharply against the black of his clothes and plumed hat. Yes, he was just as I remembered him – a magnificent, self-assured man whose effect on me was like a powerful drug. I made ready to quit the game.

"I'll have that!" Pike's greasy hand slammed down on my winnings before I could pick them up.

There was a high-pitched screech, and Jack the Monkey landed in the centre of the table, baring his teeth at Pike, who was startled to silence. Hector leaned over him and seized his wrist, forcing his hand off the money. "Give the lady her winnin's," he said, as though instructing a little lad of six or so. Jack threw my plate of food into Pike's lap.

With a snarl, Pike unwisely snatched at the money with his other hand. One flash of a blade, and he found that hand pinned to the table by a dagger, courtesy of my handsome, bold husband.

Pike bellowed in pain as I picked up my money and turned to Hector with an admiring smile.

"Always the gentleman," I sighed, my eyes promising him every intimate pleasure he could imagine.

He watched me, still with that hint of a mischievous smile. "Seems I owe ye supper," he said in his gravelly voice.

I fought back the urge to throw myself at him right where he stood. If the look in his eyes was any indication, he would take me right there on the table, and the patrons of the Faithful Bride would get quite a lesson in the facts of life. The thought brought a wicked sparkle to my eyes that was reflected in his gaze.

I glanced at Pike, who continued to howl. "Oh, stop your noise! At least he didn't kill you."

Hector's smile became a grin. "That were me second choice," he whispered to me. Then he offered his arm. "There be better victuals on the _Medusa_, milady. Shall we?"

He led me out of the Faithful Bride, then halted. With a flourish, he announced, "Our carriage awaits us." He was indicating a conveyance for hire that resembled a very gaudy coach. The coachman opened the door with a bow, and we took our seats inside. I paid no mind to the ornate vulgarity of its interior, but it all seemed to please Hector mightily.

We cuddled together, exchanging tender caresses, until I happened to glance up in the midst of a kiss. My reflection was looking back at me! I started to laugh. "I've never seen a coach with a mirror in the ceiling!"

Hector shrugged. "Well, they do cater t' many tastes," he said with a rakish grin.

I combed his hair with my fingers and put my lips to his ear. "Perhaps we should let them drive us about?" I said under my breath, nibbling at his ear lobe.

"Another time, m'sweet," he replied, working his hand under my bodice. "I'm inclined to a frolic with ye in more comfort – on the _Medusa_." Then he murmured teasingly in my ear, "Formerly known as the _Royal Oak_."

He had mentioned the ship twice. Never without an agenda, he was clearly bent on showing off the _Medusa_, and his next remark told me why. Studying my dress with curiosity, he asked, "Is that what ye wear when ye visit the court?"

I stole a look at him and understood. In my absence he had grown nervous of the court's supposed attractions. If only he knew how much he was the source of all my pleasures and the cure for all my ills!

"I only visit the court on business, love," I told him softly. "I am given my orders and sent away at once. If I were to attend a court function"– I smothered a laugh – "I would be required to wear a proper silk gown, and powdered hair to go with my ghostly face."

Nestling closer, I rested my head in the crook of his arm, and wormed my finger past his waistcoat to tickle his chest. "And then I would be obliged to be ever so polite to the courtiers as they went about sticking knives in each other's backs."

I picked up his hand and played idly with his fingers, then kissed his palm. "But tomorrow is soon enough to talk of all that. Tonight . . ." He touched my jaw, turning my face gently to his, and stopped my words with a slow, heavy kiss that lasted several minutes and turned my legs to jelly.

When the "carriage" drew up at the dock, we boarded the _Medusa's_ longboat and were rowed out to the ship. Barbossa brought me up the ladder and pointed out the improvements he had made. She was, indeed, a lovely ship. She had bronze cannons, sleek lines, and a binnacle that was a work of art. Throughout my tour, Hector kept an unusually dignified and lofty air. Clearly he was not about to let London society outdo him in courtly etiquette.

After I had properly expressed my appreciation and awe, he led me to the captain's quarters, which were much as I remembered them, but adorned with richer furniture which appeared to have been made especially for her. My face was bright with happiness – Hector had made this a place for the two of us to live. "It's so beautiful! I've never seen anything quite so magnificent – truly fit for a Pirate Lord!" My eyes brimmed with tears of admiration.

We were standing some ten feet apart. I could see that he was gratified by my reaction, but an unspoken question glinted in his eyes. He drew himself up to his full height and stood with arms akimbo and chin held high.

"So, tell me," he said as his eyes searched my face, "Did yer errand just happen t' bring ye here, or were ye comin' home?"

"Oh, my angel," I sighed. He had done all of this for me, and now he wanted to know that I was there because I loved him. "I was never hindered by lack of desire for you, love."

I ventured closer to him. "From the first day, your absence has been my private hell. When I learned I was to go to the Indies, I nearly burst with joy. I came flying to you as fast as wind and tide could take me." A surge of affection made me tremble a little as I spoke.

We both stood a bit awkwardly for a moment, our eyes beseeching each other. Suddenly we lunged forward into a ferocious embrace, and began kissing each other frantically as we tore at our clothes. We sank to the floor, faces aglow with passion, and he pushed me down on my back. In an instant we were under the table and he was working his hands up my skirts as I urged him on.

I heard the door open, and the sound of footsteps. "Cap'n?" someone said.

"Fuck off!" Hector roared, throwing a boot. The footsteps beat a hasty retreat and the door slammed shut.

I burst into laughter. "By the powers, how I've missed you!" He grinned and I tugged at his wrist. "Get over here, you handsome, dirty pirate, you!"

He twisted my hair aside and gave me such kisses on my neck that I thought the blood in my veins would catch fire. "Not here," he murmured, and pulled me to a sitting position. He nodded towards an inner door. "Our sleepin' quarters."

He scooped me up and carried me through the door to a large bed. I gasped at the headboard of ornately carved mahogany, flanked by two spiral pillars. Hector laid me down tenderly. "Feather mattress," he said proudly.

We were soon quit of the rest of our clothes, and he lay beside me at last. I caressed the back of his neck, and let his presence intoxicate me. The familiar scent and feel of his skin, the sound of his breathing, the longed-for sight of him – all made my craving nearly unbearable. His wiry whiskers brushed against my face as he leaned close. He interlaced his fingers with mine and guided my arms back until my hands rested above my head.

"I missed the smell of ye," he purred in my ear. "The taste of ye." He traced the length of my neck with his tongue and my heart went into a tailspin. "How soft an' warm yer skin feels." And he nuzzled my neck and chest.

He paused to smile at me as I groaned under the heat of his caresses. "I missed the way ye fall asleep in me arms – one great twitch an' yer sound asleep." I gazed up at him, my eyes glassy with longing and desire.

And then, with slow, deliberate movements, we took all the intimate pleasures lovers know, until utter joy overwhelmed us, and our passions were exhausted. My happiness was complete.

We rested peacefully, side by side, his arms folded about my shoulders and mine wrapped around his waist. As I fell asleep, I felt myself near to falling over. My body jerked, a mere reflex. Hector chuckled and tightened his grip.

"I've got ye, lass," he whispered.

This man was my haven, my home. Nothing in this world would part us.

As I thought of the wild and dark world that surrounded us, the unknown future, the peril of the Fountain, and the malevolent forces we cannot perceive, I loved him even more for the way he shielded me from harm.

I rubbed his chest lightly and kissed his side. "Don't let go, love. Don't you let me go – _ever_."

* * *

**Next: Chapter 6 - A Parcel of Rogues** \- Plans are laid and old friends return.


	6. A Parcel of Rogues

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**A Parcel of Rogues**

A strong, calloused hand was laid lightly upon my shoulder. Hector's long fingers curled as he grasped my arm and gently shook me awake. "Nina," he murmured.

I reached up, smiling as I touched his hand. This time it was not a dream, and I was not in Amsterdam. Brilliant sunlight flooded the cabin. I blinked, stretched and yawned. "Morning already?"

There was a fresh, delicious crispness in the winter air, and I turned over to face Hector, nestling my face and hands against his chest as he kissed the top of my head. My palms warmed quickly, and I began to draw my hands softly across his skin. "Do you know how much I missed you?" I whispered. "I think I ought to show you."

His breathing grew heavy as I caressed him, nearer and nearer to the place he wished me to touch, but only enough to tantalise him and stir his lust. He tightened his grip on me, and I brought my hand to his loins. He responded with a groan, and I felt a wave of desire race through my veins. Our separation had built up an agony of longing in both of us and the passion of our reunion was deep and urgent. Afterwards as I lay in his arms, I breathed a silent prayer. If only he would join me on the King's errand! If only I would not be obliged to part from him so soon!

He placed his hand on my belly. "Ye had no supper last night, did ye?" Without waiting for an answer, he sat up and took something off a small chest of drawers. "I'll give ye breakfast and a tale concernin' this."

He tossed a very shiny coin onto the bed and I gasped as I picked it up. A beautiful, sparkling gold cob –very fine, and freshly minted! Hector chuckled and left me to dress.

When I joined him, I found toasted bread, cheese, and a large bowl of green apples on the table. A pot of chocolate had been set at my place, whilst a tankard of rum awaited Hector's attentions.

"Some time ago, I had word of a convoy," he told me. "Twas bringin' back trade goods an' treasure t' Spain. Coins, snuffboxes, swords – and four hundred kilos o' gold ore, mined in Peru." His eyes glinted. "A pirate's dream."

He selected an apple and rose from his chair. "We lay by, just off Cayo Hueso. Waitin'." Between bites of apple, he stalked about the cabin, bringing the venture to life with his voice and sweeping gestures. "They sailed right past us, colours flyin', bold as ye like, since there be twenty o' them and only one o' me. Ye should have seen it . . ."

I listened eagerly, picturing Hector, sly as a fox and nothing daunted, waiting for Fortune to turn in his favour.

"We followed 'em," he continued, "And bad weather began t' blow up. The ships started t' make fer shore, but the draft on one of 'em was too deep t' follow the others. We got t' windward of her, an' between the _Medusa_ stealin' her wind and the grapeshot tearin' her canvas t' ribbons, we forced her onto the shoals, an' took her."

How many had he killed? He read the question in my eyes and it seemed to amuse him. "Oh, I spared her crew, lass. There was no call t' be killin' 'em. They did the work o' loadin' her cargo on the _Medusa_ themselves." He laughed. "Then I saw the wind pickin' up, so we left 'em to fate."

The fresh scent of apple was on his breath as he leaned over my chair. "Bein' true t' me merciful nature," he bragged, and kissed me.

I traced his jaw with one finger. "Attacking a treasure fleet at the edge of a storm! Only you would dare such an enterprise!"

"'Tis of little account, sweetheart. I've plundered a thousand ships in me time." There was a sly look in his eyes as he smiled. "But now I mean t' venture on somethin' different." I raised my eyebrows, though I knew what he prize he had sought, ever since the War on Piracy.

"I mean to find the Fountain of Youth," he said, and his face glowed as he spoke of it. "How would ye like t' live forever?"

Unease began to thread its way upward from the pit of my stomach. I could no more speak frankly to Hector than I could to Jack. What reply could I make that would stop him?

"Are you sure it even exists?" I finally said.

"''Tis on Sao Feng's map. Which Sparrow stole from me." He drew his chair close to mine and sat peering into my eyes, resting one arm on the table. "Since he brought ye over on the _Pearl_, no doubt ye can tell me where 'tis."

He would know in an instant if I deceived him, but evasion might work. I gave him a sad little smile. "My angel," I said, "You know my brother better than that. Do you truly reckon him so dull that he would allow me to see such a treasure? Knowing I was hastening to your side? Knowing the depth of my devotion to you?"

He looked disappointed, but I suddenly saw a way to gain my own ends. "And bringing me over was hardly an act of generosity," I remarked, "Jack did so because he is aiding me in my Messenger duties."

Small sparks of interest glinted in his eyes. "Sparrow's helpin' ye? What did ye offer him?"

"A great deal of money – what else?" I laughed. "I was to exchange a man in my custody to free a prisoner. But the man doesn't wish to be traded and offered a large ransom if I let him go. I mean to take the ransom, and free the prisoner on my own, by breaking him out of the gaol."

It seemed a likely tale. Of course, I had only Maroto's word that these riches existed. But I crawled even further out on a limb.

"Jack will welcome the chance to come at a fortune," I declared. "He hasn't made prize of a treasure ship as you have. By the by," I looked innocently about me, "what did you use to pay for all the work on the _Medusa_?"

He dismissed my question with a grunt, but I saw I had guessed correctly. Much of the gold from his venture had gone into the ship's improvements. With more encouragement, I could persuade him. I was about to go on, when Ragetti poked his head in the door.

He looked apologetic. "Beg pardon, Cap'n. It's . . ."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack announced, flourishing his hands as he made his way round Ragetti. "Still the happy pair, I see."

He sauntered up to us and dropped a letter on the table. "For you, Hector. Picked it up at The Faithful Bride."

Hector grabbed the letter, opened it and scanned its contents before stuffing it in his coat pocket. For an instant I thought it might be the one I sent from London, but as he put it away, I glimpsed my letter, already stored in the same pocket.

He flashed a sharp look at Jack. "Well, Sparrow. Ready t' give up me map?"

Jack's eyes widened. "What – you've lost the map, Hector? Sounds like carelessness to me, mate." Hector gave him a sour smile, but Jack wasn't finished. "Or is it hard to remember where you left things at your age?"

"I'll take it up with ye later," Hector told him through gritted teeth. "I've no time fer bandyin' words. Ye can match wits with yer namesake." He nodded towards Jack the monkey's perch. "I've business in town."

Thrusting out his chin, he strode past Jack and departed.

As soon as he was gone, Jack cocked his head to one side and smiled knowingly. "Your prisoner wants a word with you, love. Alone. I left 'im waitin' in me quarters."

I gasped. "You've left him with Sao Feng's map?"

Jack looked quite smug as he held one side of his coat open. Sao Feng's map was rolled into a tight cylinder and tucked through his waistband. "Best if I keep it on me at all times."

"You dragged it all round Tortuga with you?" I paused. "Does it work yet?"

"Complications arose and, ah . . . no," he admitted. "Not yet. But I think you'd better see Maroto, darlin'."

An hour later, I was on the _Pearl_, sitting with Maroto in the captain's day room. He had just finished explaining what was either the most ridiculous or the most brilliant design I had ever heard. "You're joking, Padre – you _must_ be," I kept repeating.

He began to protest, but I stopped him. "You must propose this yourself. I couldn't begin to answer the questions it raises. I shall call a sort of . . . of council, and you can lay it all out there. And there are two ships to be thought of, not one."

"Two ships will be even better," he assured me.

By early evening, I had assembled Jack, Hector, and Maroto in the captain's quarters on the _Pearl_.

Feeling rather anxious, I thrust my hands into my pockets. "I've called this council because I was ordered to exchange this gentleman, Augustin Maroto, for a prisoner in El Morro." I saw Hector's expression change, but I plunged ahead.

"He has a plan to keep his own liberty and still free the Spanish prisoner, but he needs our help."

The two pirate captains looked wary, but at least they were listening.

"In return, we can gain a great deal of gold – enough to fill both the _Pearl_ and the _Medusa_."

Hector challenged me. "How?"

"By capturing a great treasure in Havana."

"In Havana?" Hector laughed. "And ye mean t' take a man from El Morro? Ye must suit yerself, madam, but I see ye have knowledge o' neither town nor prison."

His voice became louder as he ticked off each point. "One: El Morro be heavily guarded by troops. Two: the walls be too thick fer cannon fire." He paused for a moment.

Jack put his boots on the table and studied his nails. "Three is next. In case you forgot."

Hector glared at him and resumed his lecture. "Three: the entrance to Havana be guarded on both sides. 'Tis a garrisoned town because of the treasure that passes through it. And four: at sunset each day, a great copper chain be raised across the harbour entrance and no ship can pass 'til sunrise." A condescending smile in my direction.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "I care not for foolish ventures. What sane man would think a parcel o' rogues could kidnap a man from El Morro an' plunder Havana?"

"Exactly, Capitan!" Everyone looked at Maroto. "No sane man would think it, and that is why we will succeed."

Hector regarded Maroto from beneath half-closed lids. Curiosity and love of gold were keeping him in his seat for the moment.

Maroto continued respectfully. "What you say is true. Havana is an immense port, and well-guarded. The treasure fleet docks there for repairs before sailing for Spain. Until the ships are ready to depart, all cargo is kept in the storehouses."

Something in his voice suggested to me that he was speaking with first-hand knowledge. "They are always full - there is enough in them to fill a hundred ships." I smiled as Hector and Jack leaned forward. Maroto certainly knew how to talk to pirates.

"We will sail to the harbour entrance and beg for protection from the English."

Jack blinked and held up his hand for Maroto to cease. "From the English, you said? As in, our own country of origin?"

"Yes! Because you are pirates! You fear capture and execution. Tell the _alcalde_ that in return, you agree to be brought to the Catholic faith and to attack English merchants in the name of Spain. He cannot resist poking the eye of the English king, and he will at least consider your offer. We only need a few days." Maroto glanced back and forth at Jack and Hector.

"But for those few days, they will allow you to dock," he said. "And you will be near the storehouses. I can arrange the rest."

There was a moment of silence. I crossed my fingers and hoped they would not reject Maroto's plan outright. I concentrated so intently that Hector's voice startled me when he spoke.

"And the prisoner?" he growled.

"It is impossible to escape from El Morro," Maroto acknowledged. "Therefore, we will make the authorities bring him out for us."

Jack looked at me and pointed to Maroto. "I like him," he declared. "Go on, Padre."

Maroto calmly explained the rest of his extraordinary plan. The moment he finished, everyone started asking questions at once.

Jack waved his hands again for quiet. "So let me get this straight. TWO pirate ships sail into the biggest harbour in the Indies, rob the Spanish king, abduct a state prisoner, and sail out again in broad daylight without firing a shot?"

Maroto and I exchanged glances. "Yes," I said uncertainly.

"Preposterous, outrageous and completely mad!" Jack declared. "I'm in!" He rubbed his hands together, then addressed me in a whisper. "You're sure he's not a pirate, love?"

I looked at Hector. "What say you to joining the venture?"

"Aye," he said, then turned a steely look on Maroto. "And ye'd better be right about the gold."

We had a late supper that night, during which our talk turned to my journey from London. Hector listened intently as I described the strange rider that had followed our coach. "And ye said ye were followed in Tortuga?" he enquired.

"Just my fancy, I'm sure," I replied. Now that I was safe in his company, I was inclined to make light of these little details.

"Any other fancies ye noticed?" He gave me a long look.

"No." All at once, I recalled the ship seen by Elizabeth. But what was so sinister about that? I could not even swear that whatever I had glimpsed from the crow's nest was the same vessel – or even a vessel at all. "No, nothing."

He made no reply, but seemed thoughtful as he took a long drink.

I sat upon his knee, put my arm round his neck and rested my forehead below his chin. "The hour is late," I murmured. "They'll call the middle watch soon. You know what they say, love: early to bed and early to rise-"

"Aye, m' sweet," he said. "But they failed t' specify what happens once yer abed." With a wicked leer, he scooped me up and carried me into our sleeping quarters.

The next morning, we made ready to sail for Havana. Jack had insisted upon transferring all of his passengers to the _Medusa_ and, accordingly, two of the _Medusa's_ four cabins were made ready for Elizabeth and Maroto. "I'm unaccustomed to such a spacious vessel," I told Hector, who flashed a proud grin.

I was pleased to find my duffel bag already in the day room. It had been delivered by Mr Cotton the night before, an hour after Hector and I had retired. Once the crew were all accounted for, we would make sail for Cuba.

Elizabeth boarded the _Medusa_ before Maroto was brought over. "The _Pearl_ is nearly ready to weigh anchor," she announced. "Lazaro Smith only just returned from Tortuga. Drunk and disgusting." She turned to me. "He was babbling about some Spanish woman he met in town. Jack was ready to leave him there."

Hector drew Elizabeth aside for a tête-a-tête, and waved me off. I wondered what they had to discuss that he wished me not to hear. Elizabeth glanced back at me twice as he spoke, then nodded. "Thank ye, Mrs Turner," Hector said with an indulgent smile. He went out on deck and Elizabeth rejoined me.

"I do apologise," she said. "He only wanted to tell me that he has signed on a ship's doctor. He thought it would ease my mind to know."

This didn't seem quite right. There was something he had thanked her for . . . what, exactly? A shadow of my old jealousy flickered, an echo of the time I had stood before King Swann to be ordered about, and Hector had played the role of her loyal lieutenant.

"It's nothing." I smiled. "Pirates are famously rough around the edges." I reminded myself that Elizabeth was wed to William Turner and carrying his child. Her nature was too frank to indulge in intrigue. I resolved to accept her friendship as sincere.

I took her to see her cabin and made sure it was to her liking. "Do you need anything? I'm glad we are getting a doctor – I'm not certain how these things work," I admitted with some nervousness.

"Oh yes, I've still got time before my lying-in," she replied. "I don't intend to be a burden." She laid her hand across her belly where the roundness was becoming visible. "I'll get much bigger than this." For a moment she seemed deep in her own thoughts. "Although . . . I do wish Will could be here."

I didn't doubt her iron will, nor how alone she must feel. "I'm sure he must be counting the hours. And in the meantime, you can rely upon us. You may be among pirates, but we are still your friends."

She thanked me and I went back to Hector's quarters to see what I could learn about the new ship's doctor.

When I walked in, Hector was talking with a man who sat with his back to the door. "Elizabeth says you've signed on a ship's doctor..." My voice trailed off as my eyes fixed on the man's long grey pigtail. He turned around and I gasped.

"Devil take me ef it edn't Wild Nina!" he laughed, rising from his chair.

"Rufus!" I rushed forward and threw my arms around him. "I thought I'd never see you again!" Suddenly I was alarmed. "Is everything well with you?"

"Ais, thank ye, well enough. 'Twur a great joy t' see me dattur and 'ur family." His mouth curved into the broad smile I remembered. "But the sea don't let un go that easy. I couldn't shut me eyes t' the ships in the harbour. Many's the day I diverted meself a-watchin' em' an' guessin' where they be bound." He shook his head. "In the end, Jen says t' me 'Fathur, tes plain the landsman's life don't suit ee. We've t' go to Tortuga an' find ee a berth'. The next thing I knawed, here come Cap'n Barbossa an' _phfft! _– I be signed on t' the _Medusa_."

"Ye ain't displeased, I take it," Hector said to me with a wry smile.

I laughed and shook my head. "I'm overjoyed, truly overjoyed."

Indeed, I was quite elated. Matters seemed well in hand, almost too much so. The faintest tingle of apprehension travelled down my back. It reminded me that I had other, clandestine business with Maroto. Now that we had accepted his plan, I might learn more from him.

I made an excuse to look in on him before supper, and found him in a congenial humour.

"Perhaps you could tell me something of the papers stolen from your family?" I suggested. My guilty heart pounded loudly in my ears as I thought of the journal in my duffel.

He nodded. "I began to read them when I was a young boy, just before they were stolen. What I know of the Fountain comes from them," he replied. "You see, there came a day when Ponce de Leon finally realized his madness, though he could not escape it by then. So he wrote everything I have told you, and more, in his journal. Then he made one final voyage, to his wife in San Juan. She was an aged woman by then, and he gave her his writings, charging her to keep them either as the secret legacy of his family, or, if any descendant could find a way to stop it, to do so regardless of the sacrifice required."

He paused for a moment, and I prompted him. "But then you said they were stolen?"

"Yes, they were stolen. I have searched for years, and at last I heard rumours that what I sought was in London. I broke into the house, like a common burglar, but found nothing. Then I was caught, and you know the rest."

"Where were you apprehended?"

"I was taken in Great Burlingham Street at the private residence of Lord Hervey."

This gave me a shock, but a greater one was to come. I kept my face impassive, as if I were still in the card room of The Faithful Bride.

"So you've no idea where the writings are. I shall be happy to help you search. What does this journal look like?"

"Small," he measured a little space with his hands. "The ink is faded and the covers worn. And there is a small map inside the first volume."

Trying not to show surprise, I asked, "I see. So there is more than one volume?"

"There are two, señora." Suddenly I recalled the small volume Defoe had kept for my uncle. I heartily wished I had it now. What had it looked like? Why had I not paid more attention to it?

"But though they are gone, all is not lost." Maroto had mistaken my silence for discouragement. "There is a later map, which the family did not receive – we believe it is with him. It shows the way to the Fountain."

"Then you are searching for his tomb?" I asked, remembering that there are tombs from San Juan all the way to Spain. Every one of them was said to contain the body of Ponce de Leon.

Maroto lowered his eyes and hesitated. When he gave his answer, it was one that made my hair stand on end.

"He has no need of a tomb, señora. He is very much alive."

* * *

**Next: Chapter 7 – Havana** – The _Black_ _Pearl_ and the _Medusa_ sail for Havana, Padre Maroto welcomes two new servants, and Nina comes face-to-face with the Spanish prisoner at last.


	7. Havana

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**Havana**

Ponce de Leon was alive.

In the silence of Maroto's cabin, those words sounded again and again in my mind, like the tolling of a bell. He was alive, though he should have died two centuries ago. He was alive, and his stolen journals were in my possession. And if Jack got to the Fountain, a living ghoul would be there to welcome him.

I wondered whether the famous conquistador still hunted for victims, and whether his crew was with him. How could Maroto hope to get hold of the log book? I hardly knew where to begin with my questions.

"Then - who is buried in Havana? What of the tombs in Spain and the other places?" I finally stammered.

Maroto shrugged. "I can only tell you who is not buried there."

"I'm sure you can tell me a deal more than that." Frustration edged my voice, and I studied his face for signs of madness or deceit-any reason to disbelieve him. But his steady gaze was honest and thoughtful.

Suddenly I despised Ponce de Leon. "Only a monster would use his family so ill! If he truly wanted the Fountain destroyed, he should have done it himself-and then fallen on his own sword."

Maroto gazed down at his hands for a moment. "We must try to show him mercy, as we hope to receive it ourselves. Perhaps his will was not strong enough. Perhaps he did what he could by writing the journal."

He was right. I knew little of Ponce de Leon, certainly not enough to condemn him. It was the dark power of the Fountain and Jack's fascination with it that terrified me. I hesitated.

"Supper awaits you, señora," said Maroto, and I heard Hector's footsteps as he walked past Maroto's cabin and on into the captain's quarters. "There will be time for us to speak of this in Havana."

At supper, I sat musing over my part in Maroto's design. Tomorrow evening, I would go ashore at the Pantano, leaving Jack and Hector to sail on to Havana. I would make my way on land, arriving on the other side of the city, and present a letter from Maroto to the abbess of a hermitage there.

The sisters would disguise me as one of their order and send me on to the University of Havana. Maroto would meet me there and arrange a visit to El Morro to bring spiritual comfort and medical care to the prisoners.

That would be my chance to find out where they were keeping the King's agent.

"What be on yer mind, lass?" Hector's voice startled me out of my reverie.

"Oh . . . pondering what to take with me," I replied, as if I had trunks full of gowns to consider.

"I may be addin' one or two trifles." His half-closed eyes gave him a secretive air and I frowned.

"Don't trouble yerself," he added, leaning back in his chair. "'Twill be dealt with tomorrow."

The cabin door creaked open. "Oh!" cried Elizabeth, as soon as she saw me. "I do beg your pardon!" She made haste to withdraw, but Hector stopped her.

"Wait!" Then he glanced at me. "'Tis a matter o' no concern to ye," he said, rising from the table. He followed Elizabeth out of the cabin, and his voice floated back to me. "Over here," I heard him say to her.

He didn't return, and at last I retired to sleep, though curiosity burned in my breast. I invented reasons for Hector wanting to speak with Elizabeth alone, but to no avail.

Eventually I fell asleep. Sometime later, I was half-awakened when Hector returned and lay down beside me. After that, I slept until morning.

That day, I busied myself packing all my belongings, save one. It would be safer to leave the journal's little map on the _Medusa_. Should I be robbed on the road to Havana, few could decipher the journal's medieval text, but I feared that anyone might read the map.

I looked about for a hiding place. Part of the ornate moulding over our berth had warped, creating a thin separation between it and the bulkhead. I wedged the map into this opening, pushing it in far enough to avoid discovery. Then I joined Rufus and Elizabeth on the main deck to get a bit of air.

"Well now," said Rufus cheerily. "An' how went yer venture in Pencarren, eh? I heared ye be wed now. Time t' start fillin' the ship wi' little prattlers." He saw my blushes and added, "Only meanin' congratulations. Ye recall I said the two of ye should understand each other. Appears t' me that ye do."

We talked for a while and passed a pleasant afternoon. It was only when the sun set that I thought to collect my duffel and make ready to go ashore. I hastened back to our quarters and picked up a brush and scent bottle I had forgot to pack.

Opening my duffel, I was dumbfounded to see that ten or twelve green apples had been added to my bag. Then I understood. Hector intended to go ashore with me.

"Oh, no you don't." Muttering to myself, I picked out the apples and took them into the day room. Hector was leaning over his map table, and I began to put the apples back in the large bowl where they were always kept.

"Belay that!" He didn't look up at me.

I belayed nothing, but I could sense that he was fuming. I finished replacing the apples and addressed him. "I have no reason to ferry these apples from here to Havana."

He straightened up quickly and rounded on me. "Aye, but yer captain does."

I had felt rebuffed by his absence the previous night. Now the hard, challenging look in his eyes goaded my temper even further. "My captain will not be with me," I retorted. "I shall go ashore alone and keep to the plan!"

As I spoke, a brightly-coloured parrot fluttered past me and perched on the back of a chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Jack, Mr Cotton and Elizabeth hovering in the doorway, ready and waiting to see me to the longboat.

"I've changed the plan!" Hector declared in a loud voice. "We both go ashore, an' Mrs Turner here can take charge o' the _Medusa_ in me absence."

I shot an accusing glance at Elizabeth, who had the grace to look embarrassed. So that was why he had wanted to speak with her alone! He had reckoned my skills so feeble that I could not succeed without the protection of an escort. Then he had compounded the insult by taking matters into his own hands.

My voice was defiant. "I'm not obliged to follow your plan! I am the Messenger – not you!"

"Yer also part of me crew, an' ye'll do as I bid ye! And ye'll answer me with _'Aye, Captain!'_" Arms akimbo, he was shouting now, and trying to stare me down.

Anger heated my blood and made my eyes flash as Jack chimed in with the glee of a spectator. "I know that look, mate," he crowed to Hector. "You're for it now."

But before I could speak, Cotton's parrot began chuckling softly, mimicking Hector's voice. Everyone in the room froze.

"M' little bird, little bird, little bird," the parrot purred, bobbing its head. Then it emitted sounds that seemed like low groans and intimate murmurings, although the words were, mercifully, indistinct. I remembered, and caught my breath. Cotton and his parrot had delivered my bag on my first night back with Hector, after we had retired to bed.

Aghast, I heard my own voice, teasing. "That's hard work," the parrot cooed, giggling softly. "Mmmmmm."

My face began to flush. Everyone else was pretending to find the cabin's woodwork extraordinarily interesting. Jack began humming to himself, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk that his moustache didn't disguise.

I rounded on poor Cotton. "Remove that bird, Mr Cotton," I demanded. "Or I won't answer for his safety!" Cotton moved swiftly to capture his companion.

"_Ohhh_ – _Hector_!" gasped the bird, flapping wildly as Cotton hurried him from the room.

"Right. I'm off now!" Red-faced, I snatched up my duffel and made for the door with as much dignity as I could muster. Hector strode after me with Jack the monkey on his shoulder.

We settled ourselves in the longboat side by side, both staring straight ahead. After several moments, Hector took a few apples from his coat pockets and dropped them into my bag. I gently pressed the side of his leg with mine and was comforted by the answering pressure of his knee. A silent truce had been declared.

Pintel and Ragetti, doubtless fearing another outburst from their hot-headed passengers, rowed us up the Pantano without a word, to that tiny dwelling where so much of our history had begun-Tia Dalma's shack. By the light of my small lantern, we stepped onto the little dock, and the pirates left us there.

When we entered the shack, the state of the rooms amazed me. There was no mildew, no smell of stale air or rot, not even a layer of dust. Everything looked just as it did when she had lived there. Even the breadfruit and ackee were fresh and ripe for cooking.

I poked my head up the stairs. "Tia Dalma?" But there was no answer. She was gone, yet the house remained exactly as it was the moment she left. Within its walls, time seemed to have been suspended.

When I returned to the parlour, Hector was laying his hat upon the table. He reached for my hand and brought me to him. "So, here be the two of us," he said, caressing my shoulders. "Where it all began."

"No ship to look after," I murmured as I tugged at the buckles of his belt and baldric. "No one to interrupt us. Our journey doesn't begin until tomorrow."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, which gave his expressive face a most appealing aspect. "Almost a year wed," he growled, tracing my face with his fingers. "Be my company still to yer likin'?"

I kissed him and sighed. "When you look at me like that, I could die for you."

Amid many more kisses, he disengaged my fingers and removed his coat and weapons. He seemed to be watching me intently, expectantly. Taking me by my elbows, he gently turned me to face the door of his former room.

"Now, what d' ye remember o' that night?" he asked, standing behind me and drawing his hands lightly up and down my arms.

"You, lying in there, pale as death. I – I didn't feel the way I thought I would." I leaned back against him, remembering how I had thought to rejoice at his demise. Instead, I had been desperate for Tia Dalma to bring him back, though I denied that I felt anything for him.

"Anything else?" The low rasp of his voice teased my ear.

"You kept me at your bedside." His arms encircled me as I spoke. "You had my hairpin with you. And then . . . I recall leaving you there." I concentrated, but could recall nothing more of that evening.

Hector took my hand and led me into the room. We lay on our sides, facing each other on the narrow bed, and I wrapped my arms around his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed.

"'Tis true that ye left me," he said. "But later, ye returned."

Holding me close with one arm, he began loosening my pigtail with the other. I lifted my eyes to meet his ardent gaze, and we peered silently into each other's souls, surrendering to the intimacy of the moment. I was filled with the conviction that this was where I belonged, sheltered in his embrace, staring into his keen blue eyes forever.

A faint memory tugged at my mind, insisting that I had lain here with him before, in exactly this posture. He stroked my hair, running his fingers through my tresses. Again came that feeling of déjà vu, only stronger.

Then, I caught my breath as it all came back to me: the first time Hector held me in his arms. Yes, it had been here, in this room, on this narrow bed. My heart had turned to him that night in an overpowering rush of tenderness that had compelled me to return to him. How could I ever forget? And what else might have happened?

"I did return to you," I whispered. "I know it now."

He smiled and brushed his thumb across my cheek, but I caught his wrist. "Hector, did we . . ."

He looked surprised, his eyes widening as he chuckled. "Nay, m' sweet. Though I found yer presence pleasurable enough. But I were newly brought back – spellbound, and weak as a babe." Then he clasped me tight against him, and his hot breath tickled my ear. "But I did dream of it. By the powers, I wanted ye!" His voice was low and intense.

He grasped my hair, lifting it to expose my neck, and his whiskers brushed my skin each time he pressed his mouth firmly against me. "'Tis a hunger I still have," he growled, running his calloused hands over me, disordering my clothes with his long fingers. The sensation was exquisite, and his caresses became rougher and more urgent.

Once he had dispossessed me of my clothes, he devoured me with kisses, raking me lightly with his nails as he ran his hands across my skin. Each touch made the fire in my loins hotter, and I pulled at his clothes, almost ripping them, until, laughing, he cast them off. When he stood up to remove his breeches, I gave his rump a playful pat. He turned with a grin and pushed me over on my back.

He lost no time in arranging me to his liking and taking complete possession of me. As he thrust against me, grunting with the fierce, heated urgency of a lion, I was consumed with an ecstatic longing. The memories my darling had provoked, all that he meant to me, and the eerie feeling that we were somehow outside of time overwhelmed my reason.

At last our pleasures reach a pitch that Nature could not sustain. Hector groaned loudly as our passions resolved themselves into those exquisite moments of joy when I truly felt we were one. Yet even then I yearned for a still deeper union. There remained a nameless, consuming desire in me that I was powerless to do anything but feel.

Afterwards, a quiet tenderness enveloped us. In the dim candlelight, I lay on my back, feeling warm and feather-light, every muscle in my body utterly relaxed. The back of Hector's head almost touched my cheek as he rested on my breast, half-asleep. I would have lain there silently for hours, but Hector's drowsy, sated state was the best time to get his agreement on anything that might be contentious.

I stroked his hair and spoke softly. "When I've carried out this errand, I'll stay with you – there's no need for me to return to London. I have only to free this prisoner and provide him assistance if I can."

There was an instant's pause, whilst Hector absorbed my words. Then he raised his head and looked deep into my eyes. "So 'tis more than just freein' him? An' what sort of assistance are ye t' give?"

"Perhaps none." I smoothed his hair. "He is to make his own request. But my paymaster told me there is a great treasure involved. I suppose that's what the agent was sent to discover in the first place." I traced patterns on his shoulder with my fingers.

"In any event," I murmured, "I want you by my side. Think of the gold we'll have! We won't lack for money. We can please ourselves for ever so long, until it runs out." Before he could object, I embraced him, nuzzling and kissing his ear. "Say you agree? Say we have an accord?"

"Aye," he sighed. "If that be what pleases ye – we have an accord, m' sweet."

I made a good supper for us, and afterwards brought him a bottle of rum, two apples, and his pipe. I had fretted that the gold in Havana would lessen the appeal of this other supposed treasure. But thankfully, Hector's piratical nature was never satisfied – he always wanted more.

When we retired to bed, Hector fell asleep quickly, but I was restless and uncertain. Something had been different for me this evening – I had felt a deeper longing than ever before as he made love to me, and I struggled to understand it. Rufus' words had popped into my mind unbidden: _time to start fillin' the ship with little prattlers_.

Was the little cypress shack itself influencing me, infused with some magic left by Tia Dalma? Perhaps, but surely Rufus' remark was what prompted the startling image that troubled me-a little red-haired child with the dark blue eyes so typical of the Bitters.

I resolved to turn my thoughts away. Hector would not stand for it, and even if he did, pirates made dreadful parents. Even my own father, whom I loved, had caused Jack great distress, and had left my upbringing to my uncle.

But you still loved your father, said a little voice inside me. And so did Jack. The Keeper of the Code looked after each of you in his own way, and you would do the same for him. Doesn't Hector deserve that, too?

I swallowed the lump in my throat and focused my mind on Havana. I thought of the richness and beauty of its buildings, and the warm hospitality with which it treated its guests. These things distracted me, and sleep welcomed me at last.

We left for Havana at dawn. The tropical winter is very dry, and we had no difficulty finding a muddy path through the mangroves. I led Hector to a sort of long bridge or walkway that was in ill-repair, but which would take us across the swamp to remote farms where we could get horses for our journey. The sky was hazy and the air light and cool as we walked, treading carefully on the rickety boards, with only a mildewed rope along one side to steady us.

I was reflecting on the unwanted notice that would be taken of a party of travellers that included a tall red-haired pirate and a monkey. But Jack the monkey made a sudden leap from Hector's shoulder and swung himself into a low tree. He jumped from tree to tree until he was out of our sight.

"He'll follow us," Hector assured me. "But he'll keep away so's not t' draw attention."

"Might've known you'd have matters in hand." I stole a quick look at the proud grin on his face.

Once out of the swampy Pantano, we bought two unremarkable horses at a small ranch, and made our three-day journey to Havana. We were careful to avoid other travellers as we rode along the flat and arid coast, and we took only a few hours' sleep each night, near the side of the road. Along the way, we spied a number of new forts being built by workmen in populous camps, which were all protected by Spanish regiments. I began to see how zealously this island was guarded.

It was almost dawn when we arrived at the village of Regla. The sisters were at Matins, and I presented my letter to the abbess as she left the church. After reading it, she kept her head down but raised her eyes for a moment to see Hector standing impatiently nearby. Then she gave me an oblique smile. "A sister may not travel with men," she said quietly in Spanish. "I will give you the habit, but dress you both as servants. Wear the habit after you reach the University."

Shortly after, we found ourselves at one of the city gates, waiting for the signal – a single gunshot – that announced its opening each morning. I had a new letter, written by the abbess, which I gave to the soldiers, and at last we were in Havana!

Maroto met us inside the gate and escorted us to the University, which was a fair distance away. He seemed a bit weary to me, which aged him somewhat, but I put this down to the strain of our venture.

We were introduced to another Jesuit, Dr Dionisio Suarez, who was a person of some importance at the University. "Dr Suarez is completely in my confidence," Maroto told us. "You may trust him as you do me."

Hector looked sceptical at this, and was very displeased later on, when we were given separate sleeping quarters. "How can I admit we are married?" I asked him privately. "In a short time we shall be joined by the King's agent – exactly the sort of person who mustn't know the truth."

This served to mollify him somewhat, but the next day he protested anew when he saw me ready to accompany Maroto to the prison in my novice's habit, carrying several rosaries.

"Just a moment, if ye please," he said to Maroto; then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside. "We should both go. What d' ye know of this Padre?"

He doubted my competency and was treating me like a child. Perhaps he thought Elizabeth would have been better in my role. I swallowed the hurt and glanced over my shoulder at Maroto, who had politely withdrawn. Then I answered Hector in a furious whisper.

"The question is, what do _you_ know of _me_? After everything we have endured, how can you think me so weak, so . . . stupid, that I must always be protected?"

He narrowed his eyes and set his mouth in a grim line. "Who says that be what I think o' ye?" Before I could answer, he added, "Suit yerself, then," and walked away.

El Morro stood on the opposite side of the narrow harbour entrance, and Maroto and I were rowed across to the rocky headlands on which it was built. As we walked up the steep road to the entry gate, it was clear that this was a most impressive fort, and not a mere prison. We were allowed through the gate only to find a narrow wooden bridge that passed over a moat, and another arched entrance on the opposite side. As I walked out of the sunlight and into a long stone tunnel, the temperature of the air suddenly chilled my skin, as if I had entered a cave.

Maroto conferred with a guard, and we were escorted through the portion of the fort where prisoners were kept. I had been given a handful of rosaries by the abbess, to be handed out to any who asked for one. This gave me a few moments to study each inmate, but none seemed to be English. I thought it likely they were all either suspected of treason or political intrigues against the colonial government.

I gave away the last of my rosaries, and Maroto and I exchanged anxious looks. Perhaps the agent had been moved, or my instructions were wrong. Then I spied a narrow corridor leading off of the main hallway. "_Y es alguien ahí?_" I asked the guard, pointing at the corridor.

"_Sí, pero no es un católico_," he answered.

"All the more reason to offer our prayers for his salvation, my son," said Maroto smoothly. "Please – may we look in on him?"

The guard waved us down the corridor, but remained in the main hallway. At the end of the corridor, we found the door to a single cell. This prisoner was being kept apart from all the others.

There was a small barred window like a half-moon in the door. I could just see through it by standing on my toes. Looking in, I saw a man lying on a pallet, evidently asleep. As I watched, he shifted position and a faint shaft of light illuminated his face. I froze for a moment, then fell back. Maroto stood waiting as I leaned against the stone wall and tried to compose myself.

My heartbeat felt like sharp hammer blows, and at first I could not speak. Finally I managed a hoarse response. "This one."

Maroto studied me. "Are you certain?"

I cleared my dry throat and swallowed. "Yes, Padre."

He glanced at my colourless face and trembling hands, and his voice was sympathetic. "Are you ill, señora? Please, look again – we cannot risk any mistake."

I wiped my palms on my apron and steadied myself for another look. The world felt dreamlike as I approached the door once again. I hardened my resolve and rose up on my toes.

Peering into the dim cell, I saw the prisoner open his eyes and sit up. He looked at me, startled for a moment. Then his face relaxed into the smile I had known so well years ago.

He gave a low whistle. "Well, damme if it ain't Nina Bitter," he said, with quiet amusement. "Allow me to guess, Miss Bitter: I'm the last person you expected to see."

I was powerless to reply. An old wound in my heart, long healed, had burst open afresh and I ached with grief for the sad fate of one who had never been mine to lose.

I was looking at the long-lost, beloved face of James Norrington.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 8 –** **The Spanish Prisoner** – In which we learn more of the King's agent, and meet a certain Spanish naval officer.


	8. The Spanish Prisoner

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean.

* * *

**Chapter 8 **

**The Spanish Prisoner**

He stared through the iron bars, this King's agent whose identity had so vexed me. My heart swelled with pity and regret, and I wished that I could preserve the illusion that it was James whose face I was gazing at, instead of . . . _this _man.

"Jeremy Norrington," I whispered.

His smile widened. How exactly like James he looked! His warm, hazel eyes had the same intelligent, engaging directness, but I knew that behind them lay a sly and calculating mind, very unlike that of his earnest twin.

Although he had somehow contrived to stay relatively clean-shaven, his skin showed the pallor so characteristic of prison inmates, and his clothes were very mean and worn. He was clad in ragged, moss-coloured breeches and a dirty linen shirt, open at the neck. He had neither waistcoat nor wig, but his chestnut brown locks had been pulled back untidily and bound with a black ribbon. Lying folded upon his narrow bed was a velvet coat of deep sienna, trimmed with gold embroidery.

"Preparing to take your vows, Miss Bitter?" he enquired, with a wry glance at my novice's habit. "I would have thought you'd be wed by now."

"Perhaps it doesn't suit me." I forced a chilly smile. "In fact, I've come to get you out and assist you with your mission."

"I see." He regarded me with sceptical mirth. "May I hope that this is more than some _outré_ whim?"

"You may." I raised my hand and uncurled my fingers so that he could see the Messenger badge I was holding. He looked surprised but made no reply, and I dropped the badge back into my apron pocket.

The guard was summoned, and admitted me to Jeremy's cell. As I entered, Maroto gave the man a coin and drew him a little way down the corridor to wait.

I sat on the cramped, dirty prison bed, and Jeremy stood, sometimes pacing, as we conversed in near-whispers.

"How long have you been here?" I enquired.

"Six months, I think," he replied. "I was taken shortly after James and the mad-brained Lord Beckett were defeated by a veritable armada of pirates."

I tried to appear at ease, but a sudden fearful thought had rendered me incapable of the slightest movement: it would be only natural if Jeremy wanted vengeance on the Brethren. What would he say when he learned that I had brought pirates to rescue him?

Hands clasped behind his back, Jeremy walked a few steps away from me, then continued without turning. "I presume you heard that my deluded brother had been commissioned as an admiral by that odious little bug."

"Jeremy," I began gingerly. "I was very grieved to hear of James' death . . ."

He faced me, eyebrows raised in a graceful arc. "But why?"

Seeing me at a loss for words, he continued in an offhand manner, as if he were speaking of some trivial gossip and not the death of his brother.

"Don't waste condolences on me, my dear. Everyone knows I'm estranged from my family, never to be reconciled. As for you, why should you grieve? In your hour of need, James followed your uncle's orders like a good boy, and called off your engagement."

I caught my breath, and he smiled.

"You see? I am not wholly uninformed," he said. "But you were well out of it. He wrecked his prospects in the Indies, fell in with Beckett's imbeciles, and shared their fate. What is the old proverb? _He that ships with the devil must sail with the devil."_

I knew of the enmity between the brothers, yet Jeremy's lack of feeling shocked me. At the same time, a glimmer of hope had appeared: he seemed inclined to blame Beckett, rather than the pirates, for James' death.

"I'm sure he acquitted himself well, despite the EITC's shortcomings," I said with a sidelong look.

"I couldn't say. I only know he's dead," said Jeremy. He crossed his arms and lounged against the wall, one foot propped in front of the other.

I probed a bit more. "And you hold Cutler Beckett responsible?"

"Who else?" He stared at me as if this were the most obvious fact on earth. "Do you think King George cared that a few tattered miscreants roved the seas?" He answered his own question with a laugh. "Of course not! England has far more worthy foes-the Empire of Spain, for example."

Dropping his arms, he approached the pallet and sat with me. "Beckett's greed led him to deliberately stir up a hornet's nest, with his so-called War Against Piracy. It is hardly surprising that the hornets should sting him."

I took a deep breath; it was time to lay my cards upon the table. "Jeremy, let me be frank: I have made an alliance with two pirate captains to free you from El Morro. If there is any reason you don't like it, I implore you to tell me at once. They have acted on the King's behalf in the past, and they are ready to help you now."

One corner of Jeremy's mouth twitched upward. "Sailing with pirates, are you? You do impress me."

"Then what say you? Will you accept their help?" I asked.

"Obviously, I shall seize any means of escape," he said with a shrug. "They may even find I have the resources to reward them, if I can complete my assignment."

He stood up and helped me to my feet. "Now, just how do you propose to get me out?"

"The guards will bring you to us," I said. "But you must do as I ask. Firstly, you must tell your gaoler that you've asked for further spiritual instruction."

"Is that what they're calling it, nowadays?" he remarked drily.

Ignoring his remark, I held out a tiny glass vial Dr Suarez had given me. "Then, drink this when you wake tomorrow. You won't have a pleasant time of it, but the guards will see that you are ill."

"It won't do to poison me, you know." He spoke lightly, but his expression was rather stern. He reached for the vial, and our fingertips briefly touched as he took it from me. Surely there was nothing to it, but I found myself momentarily rattled.

"We will visit you in the morning," I said. "And you must leave the rest to us."

I walked towards the door, then turned to him. "By the by, I was told you had an alias. What name did you give?"

"The first that popped into my mind," he answered. Then he chuckled, and again I imagined I saw James' handsome smile. "Oddly enough, it belonged to an old sot who once served on my brother's ship, one Joshamee Gibbs. Probably dead from drink by now."

My jaw nearly dropped. "I see," I stammered. At least he wasn't calling himself Jack Sparrow.

I bade him farewell and quickly departed.

As Maroto and I left El Morro and made our way along its gleaming white ramparts bristling with cannons, I was too distracted to admire the sight, and could think only of crossing the drawbridge and getting back to my room. Although my body moved forward with slow, deliberate footsteps, my emotions were in an uproar. I wished that I were dealing with anyone other than Jeremy Norrington.

"He is a friend of yours?" Maroto's question jolted me out of my ruminations.

I stopped and faced him with a sigh. "I was engaged to his brother years ago." There was almost nothing I could add that would tell in Jeremy's favour.

Maroto glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. "And you are troubled," he said.

"I'm merely anxious about our escape."

This was not true. Maroto's scheme, which called for both ships to sail from the harbour together, seemed well-conceived. But I was nervous and off balance, beset with forebodings I could not quite define. I needed time to gather my thoughts.

When we reached the University, the midday meal awaited us, but I put my hand upon Maroto's elbow and stopped him in the hallway.

"Please convey my regrets," I told him. "I won't be joining you at table today-and I beg that you will keep the prisoner's name secret." He nodded.

I retreated to my small chamber, where I lay upon the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. What was vexing me? Closing my eyes, I drew long, slow breaths, and tried to recall what I knew of Jeremy Norrington.

James had seldom spoken of his brother. He had disclosed his opinion only once, when I had asked if he and Jeremy were very alike.

The words had come as if they were dragged out of him. "Not, ah, not very similar." Then he had seemed to cast about for a way to explain. "He's like Father. When those two . . ." Then he had broken off, shaking his head.

But I knew, just as half the population of Cornwall knew. Tales of the strife between Jeremy and his father were everywhere. The elder Norrington was a man of many parts-as intelligent as he was devious, and as cold as he was ambitious. It wouldn't strain credulity to think that Jeremy possessed those same qualities.

On the other hand, a slippery fellow, whose fine intellect served his love of intrigue, might be well-suited as an agent and spy for his Majesty. At least he didn't share James' obsessive rancour towards pirates, especially towards-

"Jack!" I muttered, as my eyes flew open. Now I knew what was making me agitated. How could I ask Jack to rescue the brother of his deadly enemy?

If he were told all the facts, Jack might simply decide to bunk off - without us – and that would overthrow Maroto's escape plan.

Then a second realisation sent a chill rippling down my arms: I could not completely trust Hector either, once he knew Jeremy's name. There was no predicting Hector's reaction towards the man whose twin I had nearly married, but there were several unlovely possibilities. I shuddered.

If only we could keep to Maroto's plan and get away before the pirates learned who they had rescued! After a moment, a stratagem suggested itself: Jeremy must be hidden until after we set sail. Once safely on our way, I would persuade Jack and Hector to take Jeremy at least as far as Tortuga.

I decided to take the air in the University's garden. It was designed as a series of squares, like the gardens of Alcazar, and bordered by long white paths of coquina stone along which professors and students were wont to stroll. I hoped its simple geometry would encourage calm reflection upon the merits of my plan.

Once in the garden, I was surprised to see Hector, who appeared almost to have been waiting for me. I greeted him politely, mindful of the many strangers present, and we walked to the fountain at the garden's centre.

I pretended to admire the fountain, but Hector saw the tension in my face. He crossed his arms. "Did ye find the prisoner?"

"With ease," I replied, attempting to laugh. "He was the only Englishman in El Morro."

"Then what ails ye? And don't tell me 'tis nothing."

I glanced about me at the fragrant orange trees and topiaries, and then shared the one misgiving that I could. "I'm nervous of keeping our secrets-that's all. He's quite the courtier, this prisoner. You wouldn't want him to learn of our marriage, for instance; it would place us under his power."

Hector stared into the distance, and I saw a glint in his eye that boded ill for Jeremy.

"Remember, I am accountable for his safety," I told him. "It's only that we must be careful. Until we're rid of him, I will need my own cabin on the _Medusa_."

"Ye said he had a mission – what is it?"

"There was no chance to ask at the prison," I replied. "Once he's aboard ship and we show our heels to Havana, I mean to find out. I do believe there's gold in it."

He grunted his acknowledgement and reached for me, scowling when I drew back. I indicated the other people strolling about the garden. "Not here," I said. "Even though I slept alone on a wool mattress last night, hating it, and wanting you. But we must remain 'Captain Barbossa' and 'Miss Bitter' until we reach Tortuga."

He narrowed his eyes. "That be a week or more, madam."

"You insisted on a clandestine marriage," I replied. "I'm only trying to keep it so. For now, I must behave as if I'm an unmarried woman."

He gave a single, reluctant nod. "Just don't go forgettin' that yer not," he said. Then he stepped back and made a sweeping bow. "_Miss_ Bitter." With that, he strode off down the stony path, leaving me standing at the fountain.

The following morning, Maroto and I made ready to return to El Morro. Dr Suarez gave me a small, folded handkerchief, and a warning. "Cuidado, hija," he said. "The venom is more powerful than curare."

We presented ourselves at the prison, and the guard ushered us into Jeremy's cell.

Maroto rushed over to the prisoner, and then turned abruptly to face the guard. "Que pasa aquí?" he demanded with a dramatic wave of his arm.

Jeremy was lying on his bed, groaning and apparently unable to rise. His face was alarmingly pale and though he was sweating profusely, he had his coat wrapped about him and was clutching it as if to keep off a chill. I turned my back and quickly shook out the handkerchief in a corner whilst Maroto hovered over the sick man, uttering more expressions of alarm.

Seconds later, I let out a little scream of fright and pointed to the floor. Maroto and the flustered guard hurried towards me. "Don't touch him!" Maroto cried, holding us back from the tiny purple frog. "It is a poison dart frog!"

He looked back at Norrington, then at the guard. "This must be what made him ill – he will die within hours. We must act at once." He used a small rag to collect the frog, then shooed us out of the cell.

We sought out the officer in charge, and Maroto explained the situation. The Englishman, a State prisoner of some value, was dying from the effects of the frog's venom, but by an amazing stroke of good fortune, the most highly-regarded authority on poison frogs resided in Havana - none other than the learned Dr Dionisio Suarez. He was, without question, the only person qualified to deal with such matters.

"Send the prisoner and this frog to Dr Suarez," Maroto proposed. "Perhaps he can create a tonic, and the man will live. But it must be done at once."

And so it was that Jeremy was brought to Dr Suarez on a litter, still wrapped in his coat, manacled, and barely conscious. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hector watching the procession from a window.

Once Jeremy was settled in a small room and the guards had gone, I slipped into the room and picked the locks on his manacles. "Try to rest," I told him.

He looked up at me, and I felt for a moment as if it were James lying there in pain. I managed to catch myself before I reached out to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"Don't let them take my coat," he mumbled, and rolled over to face the wall.

_The poor man is delirious,_ I thought. _The contents of the vial have made him sicker than we anticipated._ I left the room in haste, and informed Dr Suarez, who assured me that all would be well.

Since I could contribute no more at the University, I slipped into my room and changed the novice's habit for my usual boy's clothes. Then I gathered my belongings and went to bid farewell to Dr Suarez, who was in his study.

"I could not take my leave without saying how extremely obliged I am to you, sir," I told him. "If there is ever anything I can do to repay your kindness, you have only to ask."

"If you help Padre Maroto, that will recompense me," he replied, looking very grave.

"Yes, of course."

He gazed at me for a moment, as if making some decision. "You may find your courage tested," he said.

I thought of Ponce de Leon and felt a little shiver as if a ghostly finger had tapped my shoulder. "Well . . . keep me in your prayers, Doctor," I said with a heartiness I did not feel.

Slinging my duffel across my back, I departed. Just before I walked out through the great courtyard of the University, I heard a cough and turned to see Hector a short distance away. As usual, there were other people about, so I merely touched three fingers to my lips and then turned my hand towards him. He nodded and disappeared through a doorway.

I hurried through broad, dusty streets where the sounds of families gathering for supper drifted through open windows, accompanied by delicious aromas. The moon had risen by the time I found the dock where the _Medusa_ was berthed, and I was ravenously hungry.

I bounded across her gangway and entered the captain's quarters, where I found Elizabeth and Jack eating from a platter of crusty bread, fine cheese, and mouth-watering avocado. I tore my eyes away from the plate and said, "Sorry, Jack – I really must speak with Elizabeth in private, and it can't wait."

He flashed a delighted grin. "In private, eh? I shouldn't think you'd have any secrets left, Brat. Not after that parrot finished squawkin', savvy?" He leaned back jauntily in his chair, gold teeth gleaming as he rested his booted feet upon the table.

But I knew how to encourage him to leave.

"Stay, if you like." I shrugged, then feigned excitement. "By the by, there's a one-eyed man in El Morro, rather like Ragetti; but wait 'til I tell you his story!"

A hint of unease appeared in Jack's expression, and I pressed on, with morbid glee. "He was a lookout, and he kept his spyglass in the crow's nest. Well, he didn't know it, but a spider nested in the eyepiece. When he put the spyglass to his eye, the spider must have panicked-"

"Would you mind just telling the rest to Lizzie?" Jack's face looked pinched as he jumped up from his chair and made for the door. "I don't like spiders."

As soon as he was gone, I slid into his chair and eyed the bread and cheese, but my appetite had fled, thanks to the knot of tension in my stomach.

"We've found the prisoner," I said. "Maroto is bringing him here tonight as per the plan. But,"-I hesitated, realising there was no easy way to break the news-"I'm afraid the King's agent is Jeremy Norrington, James's brother."

Elizabeth gasped, but recovered herself. "Perhaps he's an imposter. I never heard James speak of a brother," she replied.

"He – they had disagreements." I bit my lip and stared at the floor. "But it'll be obvious when you see him – they were twins." I gave her a searching look. "You see what I mean? _Everyone_ who, let us say, 'crossed swords' with James, will recognise his brother the moment they see him. And _some_ may not be very keen to rescue him."

Her eyes widened as she realised who I meant. "If Jack finds out, who knows what he'll say!"

"It's what he may do that has me worried," I replied. "We need to hide Jeremy for at least a day."

Elizabeth concurred with a quick nod. "Alright. When they bring him tonight, I'll see that he's taken straight to a cabin. No visitors allowed until you're ready."

"Thank you." I breathed a sigh of relief. That was half the battle; I needed to secure only one more promise from her.

I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping my next question would be answered as I expected. "Is it true," I asked, "that Hector and James never actually met when the Aztec curse was broken? Or later, during the War Against Piracy?"

"As far as I know," she said slowly.

"Good." I took a deep breath. "I would be obliged, then, if you didn't tell him Jeremy's name."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "But he's captain of this ship! Surely he'll find out, even if we don't tell him."

"I'll tell him as soon as we've put Havana to our rudder," I hastened to assure her. "But at the moment, we're under the eye of the Spaniards. I don't wish to upset Jack or Hector and risk the lot of us being found out and tossed into El Morro."

She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, then nodded. "Very well," she said. "It's only for a day." Then she frowned. "Will Jeremy agree to stay in his cabin?"

"I'm not even sure he'll be conscious," I replied.

I took my duffel to the only remaining vacant cabin, the one farthest from the captain's quarters. I had no sooner set it down, than Rufus appeared at the open door.

"Good t' have ye back," he said. Then he stepped inside the door and spoke quietly. "Mrs Turner did say the presoner's t' be keept in his cabin."

"Until we're well underway," I said with a sigh. "I hope this ends soon, Rufus. I'm mortal tired of keeping secrets."

"Ais, well, tedn't natural to ye," he replied. "But ee that be shipped wi' the devil must sail we' the devil, as they d' say."

"Indeed."

I gave a weary sigh. Why must he quote the same proverb as Jeremy? Were there no others? I hoped it was not an ill-omen. Still, I was greatly reassured to have Rufus aboard. I could see why my father had always trusted him more than any other man on the _Misty Maiden_.

If all went well, Jack and I would meet again after midnight. I was to help him take some measures that would ensure our safe departure, but that was all I knew.

At about midnight, Hector and Maroto arrived in a wagon bearing several large wicker trunks. Some of these were loaded onto the _Medusa_, and others onto the _Pearl_. Maroto caught Elizabeth's eye and indicated one trunk, which she ordered brought to the cabin next to mine.

Hector began to follow, but there was a loud screech from high in the rigging; Jack the monkey was impatient to see his master. As monkey and master greeted each other, I quickly followed Elizabeth. Rufus joined us in the cabin, and we extracted Jeremy from the trunk and settled him in his berth.

He looked somewhat stronger, but was weak enough to be tractable, except that he still clung to his coat. We locked him in and left Rufus to stand guard.

I entered the captain's quarters and found Hector happily feeding treats to his little companion. His smile faded when I told him I had moved into my own cabin, which adjoined that of the King's agent.

Just then, the door opened and Jack strode into the room, wearing the uniform of a Spanish admiral. "These are for you, darlin'," he announced, handing me a set of clothes. "I'll collect you in an hour, and we're off. I've a bit of work to do."

I stared at him in shock. Spain and England were at war, and wearing the uniform of one's enemy counted as espionage. If they caught us, we would be hanged for spies.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 9 – Running Before the Wind -** Nina's obligations to the King's agent begin to take a toll on her marriage.


	9. Running Before the Wind

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**Running Before the Wind**

Clutching the Spanish uniform, I glanced at Hector and Jack. Did they not understand that the very act of donning these clothes was punishable by hanging? But neither one seemed concerned.

Hector left off feeding his pet, and turned to Jack. "Did ye bring 'em?" he growled.

Jack produced a small leather pouch with a long strap, and tossed it onto the table. "In there," he said with a wave of his hand. Then he gestured towards Jack the monkey. "Once 'e knows what to do, give 'em to Brat. She'll carry 'em."

It seemed everyone had been consulted about Jack's scheme, with one exception - me. "Could someone tell me-"

Jack spun about to face me with a sly smile. "No worries, love," he said, rippling his fingers in the air. "I'll explain when we're on our way, savvy?"

My shoulders drooped and I stifled a sigh. As usual, Jack would tell me what I needed to know, moments before I needed to know it. Questioning him any sooner would be useless.

As soon as Jack left the room, I turned to Hector. He had opened the pouch and extracted a very thin, tapered iron spike of about four inches. It resembled the nail a farrier would use to shoe a horse, only much longer, and without the nail head.

I stared hard at the trifling object, and marvelled that the fate of two ships and scores of men all hung on this tiny bit of metal. It would work, I told myself. It had to work.

Jack the monkey was grasping at the little spike, and testing it with his teeth. Hector encouraged him, talking softly in the coaxing voice he always used to train the little creature. Both master and monkey steadfastly ignored my presence.

I had been looking for the opportune moment to slip away to my cabin and write a short letter to Jack revealing Jeremy's identity, and this seemed the ideal time. Trying to remain inconspicuous, I stole towards the door.

My fingers had just touched the handle, when Hector spoke.

"So the _Medusa's_ to be graced by the presence of a courtier," he mused, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He didn't face me, but he had stopped his games with Jack, and I saw him steal a sidelong glance in my direction. "Well, I suppose ye'll find his company pleasin'. Ye be more accustomed to courtiers than cutthroats."

I shook my head, but my heart began to beat a little faster. "Not so. And there is only one man whose company is pleasing to me."

"Yet not pleasin' enough to keep ye in me bed," he said, and resumed playing with his pet.

His remark startled me and injured my feelings. I moved forward and began to object, but he waved me off, as if he had been jesting. Then he asked, "What have ye told him of yerself?"

"That I am a King's Messenger," I replied. "One whose friends include pirates. He doesn't know that we're wed or that Jack is my brother."

I took a deep breath, intending to give Hector a full explanation of everything that I had kept back from him; but I remembered that I had little time in which to prepare for Jack's venture.

Shifting from one foot to the other, I glanced about the cabin. "I really must go – I don't want to be late for Jack. May we not take this up at a more convenient time?"

"Aye." He leaned back in his chair with a half-smile, his heavy-lidded eyes studying me. "Off with ye, then."

I hastened to my cabin, where I scribbled a brief letter for Jack. Then I dressed in the blue breeches, red waistcoat, and blue coat he had given me. I tied my hair back, stuffing the ends into the black silk bag supplied for that purpose, and knotted the silk ties about my neck.

Lacking a mirror, I had to guess at what sort of figure I cut as a young naval cadet. Whether I would be sufficiently convincing was an open question, and I was thankful that this masquerade would take place in the dark of night.

An hour later, Jack and I were on our way to El Morro. Not far behind us, Jack the monkey scampered along in the shadows. I had slung the pouch diagonally across my uniform, and the spikes it held made a faint jingling sound as they bounced against my hip.

Jack's uniform was dripping with gold braid, and his dreadlocks were covered under a very extravagant periwig. He had everything a Spanish officer would need, except for one minor skill - the ability to speak Spanish fluently.

As we walked, he told me each improbable step of his plan, and the muscles in my chest and arms began to grow tight. When I looked down at my hands, they were curled almost into fists. I straightened my fingers, but my anxiety persisted. If the same plan had been proposed by anyone other than Jack, I would never have agreed to it. As matters stood, I could only hope his luck would hold.

"We're all sorted, right, mouse?" he whispered in a slurry voice, swaggering along confidently in his officer's uniform as if he owned all of Havana. "And you'll need to be a bit servile, y' know. Remember, I outrank you."

"Does that mean they'll hang you first?" I retorted under my breath. Then I cast a quick look at him. "And you'd better straighten your wrists," I warned. "I don't think Spanish officers wave them about like that."

When we reached El Morro, Jack produced a large handkerchief adorned with quantities of lace, and signed for me to approach the sentinel. I stepped forward with a knot in my stomach.

Making a proper salute and giving the password supplied by Maroto, I addressed the sentinel in Spanish. Admiral Blas de Lezo, I said, had arrived to drill the soldiers currently on duty. He was suffering from laryngitis, but had brought me along to call out his commands.

Although Jack had told me that these on-duty drills were common, I held my breath as I waited for the sentinel to respond. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced over the wall at a sheer drop of perhaps eighty feet, which ended in a jumble of rocks and crashing waves. If our deception didn't work, there would be no easy escape.

After a moment, to my great surprise and relief, the guard admitted us to the fort. We hurried to the ramparts where the soldiers were guarding El Morro's cannons. Jack stood a little way apart in a dignified pose as I called the company to attention, facing Jack, and with their backs to the great guns.

In the most important voice I could muster, I told them the Admiral wished to drill them on the manual of arms.

Then I stepped behind them, whilst Jack surveyed the scene with an imperious air, and waved his handkerchief at me as if to signal particular orders.

As I shouted each drill command from behind the troops, I stealthily placed a few of the little spikes on the nearest cannon, then I would advance to the next gun and shout the next command. When the spikes had been distributed, I saw Jack the monkey appear over the edge of the rampart and jump onto a cannon.

Immediately, I shouted, "Saquen la bayoneta!" The soldiers drew their bayonets and prepared to fix them on their guns.

Again and again, the soldiers noisily fixed their bayonets. Each time they did so, Jack the monkey dropped a spike into the touch-hole of one of the cannons. I repeated the bayonet drill until all of the cannons had been spiked, and Hector's pet had disappeared once more.

With our work completed, Jack flapped the handkerchief to his right, and pointed. I ordered the soldiers to turn to their right and begin marching, whilst Jack and I made off in the opposite direction. We saluted as we departed briskly through the outer gate, and began to cross the footbridge. Behind us, there was a loud exchange at the sentinel's station.

"Admiral Blas de Lezo?" someone shouted at the sentinel in Spanish. "_Blas de Lezo!?_ The man's been dead for a year!"

"Leg it," I hissed at Jack, and we broke into a run.

\- o -

When we returned to the docks, the large wicker trunks that Maroto had delivered were lying scattered about the dock, empty. Their contents had been distributed amongst the pirates as per our plan. We were only waiting for daybreak and the lowering of the boom chain to make our way out of Spain's most prized harbour.

As sunlight began to spill over the rooftops to the east, the customary gunshot sounded, announcing the opening of the city gates. A fresh breeze was blowing from the southeast, and I knew the winds would favour us. The Havana "road" faced northwest and so, once we passed El Morro, the _Medusa_ could put on all her canvas, and the wind would drive us straight out to sea with all possible speed.

Before the gangplanks were raised, I ran quickly over to the _Pearl _and accosted Maroto. He took my letter and agreed to give it to Jack as soon as we cleared Havana's headlands. As I thanked him, I spied Jack on the quarterdeck. I rushed up the steps to meet him.

"At last we're off!" I said, and embraced him tightly, patting his shoulder. "For luck, my dear – for luck!" Then I took to my heels and sprinted back to the _Medusa_.

As soon as I boarded her, I saw Hector, strikingly handsome in a Spanish captain's uniform. Impulsively, I intercepted him as he made his way across the deck, and reached for his arm.

"Hector-" I began.

He cut me off with a rebuke. "I agreed we'd speak when it were convenient. Means convenient for _me_ as well as _ye_, Miss Bitter."

"Aye, Captain," I said, dropping my hand.

The look on his face made his intentions clear. If I wished to act as a mere acquaintance, then he would take great satisfaction in giving me what I desired. I stepped to one side, and he continued on his way to the helm.

Left to myself, I roamed about the main deck, surveying my surroundings as the _Medusa_ slipped her cable and got under sail.

I have always loved the first moments when a ship puts out to sea. At the beginning of every voyage, there is a joyous anticipation that never fails to fill the hearts of everyone on board, touching something deep in the soul of seaman and landsman alike. Experienced travellers look forward impatiently to the moment when the quiet, murky waters and stale smells of the docks are left behind, giving way to the rolling swell and fresh, salty air of the ocean.

And then, as the ship begins to stir, it has always seemed to me that she is awakening from slumber and becoming enlivened by her longing for the open sea. These feelings of happy expectation gradually absorbed me and, for the moment, I ceased fretting over Hector's worrisome humour.

Looking up at the rigging, I saw that most of our crew lay aloft, standing along the yards in the footropes, ready to put on more canvas at Hector's command. All of them were clothed in Spanish uniforms, and Spanish colours were flying from our masthead. It looked for all the world like Spain had taken possession of the _Medusa_ and was making a show of her.

The _Medusa _and the _Pearl_ threaded their way through the anchorage at a snail's pace, before turning up into the channel that ran past El Morro. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Maroto's plan would work, and that the soldiers would take us for Spanish crews moving the two ships. As we drew near the fort, I secretly eyed the ramparts, even though I remained facing our bow.

The moment El Morro came abeam of our vessel, Hector called out, "Set all squares!" and the crew loosed all the _Medusa's _remaining canvas. It was a magnificent sight. As the sails were quickly set, the wind filled them with a tremendous, steady force, and the _Medusa_ began to make way at a rapid rate.

Behind us, the _Pearl_ was executing the same commands. At the same time, I noticed a number of soldiers running along the ramparts, some pointing at Jack and seeming to talk excitedly. Then I realised why: they were confounded at the sight of the late "Admiral de Lezo" sailing out of their harbour. I stood transfixed, aware of a hollow sensation in my stomach, hoping with all my heart that we had spiked the cannons successfully.

But judging by the confusion and the frustrated shouts as the soldiers ran from one cannon to the next, Jack the monkey had performed his duties to perfection. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, when I saw a flash of fire from a solitary cannon positioned on a lower level than the ones we had disabled.

"Angels of heaven!" I whispered, hearing the roar of the cannon. I stood paralysed as the shot came straight at us and struck our starboard quarter at the waterline near the stern.

I ran to the rail and peered over it before Hector shouted at me to step back. However, I had seen enough to reassure me. The _Medusa _had been a ship of the line before we captured her, and her sides were reinforced. The cannon shot hadn't caused more than minor damage. Off our stern, the _Pearl_ was bearing off to starboard, as Jack returned fire with her guns. The soldiers scattered briefly, giving us just enough time to sail out of range.

"That be the last time I'll trust ye," Hector growled as he stomped past me towards his quarters. "Ye were supposed to t' spike _all_ the guns! Now me ship needs repairin'."

Crestfallen, I looked across the water at the _Pearl_, and saw Jack raise his hat to me from afar. I waved limply, wondering what he would think once he had read my letter.

Instead of following Hector, I made for my cabin. Elizabeth stopped me just outside the door. "Did you give Jack your letter?" she asked.

"I left it with Maroto. He'll likely give it to Jack very soon." I stood with my back against my cabin door. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

She knitted her brows, too preoccupied to listen. "The _Pearl _is full of gold now, and your orders are to help Jeremy Norrington. Perhaps Jack has had enough of this – he must want to pursue his own ventures. "

"I'm sure of it, but I think he won't desert me just yet. We shall see." I smiled, and let myself into my cabin.

Unknowingly, Elizabeth had put my own fear into words: that Jack would leave me to deal with Jeremy, and resume his own quest for the deadly Fountain. The only thing I dreaded more was that he might find it before I could protect him.

Fortunately, I had devised a way to postpone my brother's venture.

Alone in my cabin, I dug into my pocket and pulled out the small item I had stolen when I embraced him. Picking pockets was like riding a horse, I thought; one never really forgot how to do it.

I opened my duffel bag. "Forgive me, Jack, but I can't have you running off just yet," I murmured as I dropped Jack's compass into my bag.

In the afternoon, Hector sent for me to join him in the day room. Expecting a lecture on the proper way to spike guns, I was not looking forward to our conversation. However, he was in a conciliatory mood, thanks in part to the tankard of rum I saw near his hand.

"Lock the door an' come sit with me," he said.

I did as he requested, and he drew me onto his knee. "Apologies for bein' short with ye," he said, petting my back. "When ye've been at sea as long as I have, ye grow accustomed to things happening in the blink of an eye, and ye learn t' speak rough and quick about it." He nuzzled my ear and kissed me. "Still friends?"

"Yes," I replied. Despite his words, a conviction was taking root in my mind that he still did not think me capable of being a Messenger. "I'm sorry about the guns," I sighed. "I want so much to prove myself to you, Hector." Then I gathered my nerve. "There is something I need to tell you about my errand. Something I didn't expect."

He shifted me so that we were face to face, and stared into my eyes. "Ye think I don't know when ye have a secret from me? Well now," he added in a softer tone. "Out with it."

I swallowed hard. "Can you . . . break an accord if something happens after you've made it?"

He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. "Nay, there be no honour in that."

My heart had begun pounding again. "Then I'm obliged to follow through, no matter what. And you promised to accompany me."

Then I told him who we had just rescued from prison, and how shocked I had been to find myself face to face with James' twin. "I know in my heart that we can profit handsomely from this if we're both civil to him," I said. "Wealth and power is what interests him, and Lord Hervey told me of the gold when I was in London. But it is essential that we take care when he's about. He mustn't discover anything he can use to control me once he's back at court." I gazed into his eyes. "Please, Hector. I so want this to succeed."

He stared hard at me for a moment longer. Then he helped me off his lap, strode to the door and opened it. "Send Badger," he said to someone outside.

While he waited, he turned back to me. "I suppose I'll help ye," he said. "But don't ask me to like it."

When Badger arrived, Barbossa gave him his orders. "Tell our guest he'll be dining with the captain tonight, if he's recovered from his illness," he announced.

\- o -

At supper that night, I got a taste of what the next week would be like.

There were five of us at table: Hector, Jeremy, Rufus, Elizabeth, and myself. Jeremy had escorted me from my cabin, and we were last to arrive. As he pulled out my chair, I introduced him. He was curious about Mrs Turner.

"I admire your courage in making so arduous a journey, madam," he said with a warm smile. "I trust the reason is a happy one."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "It is, indeed. Although I'm longing to hear anything of London."

"You may find my stories a little outdated," said Jeremy.

"I'm sure we won't, Mr Norrington," I said, thinking to divert him from questioning us.

"Good heavens – there's no need for such formality," he replied. "You must call me Jeremy, and I shall call you Nina. After all, we were nearly family." He took a sip from his goblet, oblivious to the stare Hector was giving him. "And I shall be pleased to entertain you with whatever you would like to hear."

Then he proceeded to tell a series of very diverting stories, including one concerning the King's mistress having her chair deliberately pulled out from under her by his youngest daughter, and another about a famous doctor playing cards and losing to his dog – twice.

"But surely you have met him?" Jeremy said to me as we all laughed at the story. "He is always at Kensington – the doctor, I mean, not his dog!" There was another burst of laughter. The company had become quite merry, but I was not sure I heard Hector joining in.

"I don't know him. I've hardly passed any time at the court," I told Jeremy as my mirth subsided.

"Well, I cannot allow that," he said. "I'll not have you languishing in the Indies! When you're back in London, I shall make a point of showing you round the court. No doubt you'll make the brilliant match I am certain is in your future."

He smiled to see my face turn pink, but in truth, I blushed because I dared not look at Hector. "You're too kind, Jeremy. But perhaps you could tell us what assistance we can provide for your assignment?"

"Of course, my dear. It is something at which pirates excel." He poured himself another glass of wine and continued. "I set out from Plymouth on a large cutter, the _Berwick_, with a crew of forty men. I'm not at liberty to disclose details of my mission, but the crew took it into their heads that I was bound for a secret location that offered wealth beyond their wildest dreams. Once that idea had taken hold, they resolved upon a mutiny. They stranded me-"

"Upon an island?" I asked in amazement.

He chuckled. "Worse. They stranded me in Tortuga, and absconded with the _Berwick_."

"How could they find this secret location without you?" Elizabeth said.

"Oh, I was reputed to have a mysterious map, which would lead them there," he replied. "I suppose they're still searching the ship for it."

He drained his glass and continued. "In any event, pirates should be good at finding the _Berwick_, seeing that it's their business to find and rob ships. And I'll pay you a very large amount of treasure."

Then he looked at each of us in turn, a confident smile on his face that invited us all to become his colleagues. "You see, my crew were correct as to that part of my mission."

* * *

**Next: Chapter 10 – An Uneasy Alliance** – Jeremy Norrington's tactics begin to pay off, while Nina's secrets earn her distrust.


	10. A Difficult Alliance

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**A Difficult Alliance**

"So ye were sent off t' seek wealth beyond yer wildest dreams," Hector said with a dry chuckle. He lounged in his chair with one elbow propped on its arm. "Not plannin' to ransack Havana, were ye?"

I stared blankly at the side of my goblet, tracing its stem with one finger. Was Hector merely aiming an idle joke at Jeremy, or was this a sign that my misgivings were warranted? I wondered how much malice might simmer beneath his remarks.

Jeremy responded with a polite laugh. "Far from it, Captain. But I'm not at liberty to say more."

"No matter. I only wondered how a King's agent ended up in El Morro, needin' a pirate ship t' get him out," Hector regarded him with an ill-concealed smirk.

Jeremy's features softened into a regretful smile. "I can only say that I was acting in service to my country, and it could not be avoided."

"I'm sure ye did the best ye could," Hector replied, in a smug tone that set my teeth on edge. "As it happens, success crowned me own venture there."

"I'm sure success is no stranger to you, Captain," Jeremy replied graciously.

Hector lifted his chin and puffed out his chest. "'Tis me constant companion."

His remarks were not sitting well with me, but my best hope of avoiding a quarrel was to keep my mouth shut. Annoyed, I stirred the mashed turnips on my plate. Hector was master of a fine ship laden with gold, whilst Jeremy sat before us in rags, recently rescued from prison. Why did Hector persist in lording it over him?

Not discomfited in the slightest, Jeremy turned an appreciative eye towards me. "I see you've found a skilled, experienced ally, Nina dear. Well done!" He raised his glass, gazing at me just slightly longer than necessary.

I prayed he did not notice Hector's possessive, disapproving look, but I knew Jeremy was as sharp-eyed as he was astute. I was certain he had been studying Hector's attitude towards me all evening. There was no doubt that this compliment was intended as a test.

"You credit my judgement too much," I answered. "I hope that in time, it may not be flattery when said to me, but at present, I pray you will spare my blushes and divert us with more of your wonderful stories."

To my relief, the verbal jousting proceeded no further, and Jeremy's conversation turned again to chit-chat freighted with the flattery and barbed wit that mark fashionable discourse. Rufus, Elizabeth and I made conventional replies, whilst Hector maintained an air of supreme self-assurance. Behind his satisfied, lynx-like smile, however, he seemed quite watchful.

When we had eaten, Jeremy drew back my chair with the casual grace of one long accustomed to keeping good company. He offered me his arm, and we followed Rufus and Elizabeth to the door.

"Oh, Miss Bitter!" came Hector's voice, easy and velvety. "A word with ye."

"Of course, Captain." I turned back as Jeremy hesitated.

"A private word." He gave us a broad, obliging smile. "If ye please."

Jeremy's expression did not change, but his speculative gaze moved from Hector, across the captain's day room, and finally to me. I answered his questioning look with a nod, and he departed.

Hector waved me to my chair, still smiling, though the rest of his expression was all business. "I see Mr Norrington finds ye much to his likin'," he said.

Then he leaned forward and rested his forearm on the table, holding his palm out to me. I took his hand and his fingers caressed my wrist. As we gazed at each other, he said, "What's done is done, but I expect ye t' keep no more secrets from me."

The earnestness in his sharp blue eyes was warm and compelling, mesmerising me until I could think of nothing but the tender affection that bound us together.

"No more secrets," I repeated, and the phrase echoed in the chambers of my heart. I was fortunate indeed, to have such a strong, bold adventurer for my most intimate friend. Pledged to each other, keeping nothing back – that was how it should be. The right thing to do was to make a clean breast of it and tell him all the things I had learned from Maroto. There would be no more secrets.

I edged forward in my seat, and smoothed the whiskers at the side of his face. Our lips were inches apart, when he remarked, "And when we reach Tortuga, I'm inclined to let him find his own ship. I have me own business to attend to."

"I understand." We were nose to nose now, my fingers brushing strands of hair back from his face. "What business do you need to attend to, love? A new venture you have in hand?"

He set his jaw at a determined angle. "I mean to find the Fountain, with or without Sao Feng's map." He drew back, awaiting my response.

My pulse jumped. "Ahhh. I see." I nodded and lowered my eyelids to conceal my alarm.

And to think I had been on the point of telling him all I knew about the Fountain! Hector wouldn't have given my warning a moment's thought – in fact, he would have exploited whatever I shared in order to reach the Fountain with all possible speed.

Needing time to think, I searched for a suitable reply. As the seconds ticked by, we slowly drew back from each other and our mood of intimacy silently faded.

"You are a Pirate Lord and the master of the _Medusa_," I said at last, trying to smile. "You answer to no one but yourself. Unfortunately, I am still a King's Messenger, and my orders are to help Jeremy re-capture his ship. I can't consider another venture until that is settled."

There was a hint of disappointment in his face, but his expression quickly hardened. "Ye must do as ye please, then," he replied with sudden coolness, and released my hand. "Ye'd best get t' yer cabin, if ye don't want t' make yer friend suspicious. We don't want him t' know yer wed, do we?"

I shook my head. No, we did not want Jeremy to know.

Dismissed, I wandered out to the main deck in a very low state. If only I could have clasped his hand, made him understand that I had reasons for what I did, unspoken reasons that were firmly rooted in my love for him. I sighed. _Unspoken reasons._ Just another name for secrets.

I had made a promise and broken it, all within a few moments. What sort of deceitful person had I become? He was right to distrust me. I knew things about the Fountain that I would not share with him, now or ever.

Instead of returning to my cabin, I made my way slowly along the larboard rail, hoping the beauty of the stars and the soft rushing of the night wind would pacify my spirit and ease my remorse.

The deck was nearly deserted, and the few men who were on duty went about their work quietly. We all moved as if we were sleepwalkers, called forth from our beds by the lustre of the tropical moon. I moved forward, almost to the forecastle, then stopped and glanced behind me. I entertained a momentary hope that I might see Hector coming after me; but I was quite alone. As I looked towards the ship's stern, I felt the breeze full on my face and remembered that we were still running before the wind.

I have always thought of running as the most deceptive point of sail. The ship feels as if she is moving slowly, because she travels with the motion of the waves. In truth, she "runs" at her greatest speed, because the sea does not resist her.

But running is, by far, the most precarious manoeuvre. The waters seem calmer than they are, and the sea state ahead is hidden from the helmsman's view. One small misjudgement, and the ship can veer off course and even broach.

Nothing is as it seems—not the wind, nor the water, nor the way ahead.

I shut my eyes and exhaled, praying that I could protect Jack and Hector from the Fountain without causing some unforeseen disaster.

And I had just had a narrow escape. It would have been folly to confide in Hector. When it came to the cursed Fountain, I couldn't trust him any more than I could trust Jack.

Some distance off to larboard, I noticed the _Pearl_, running almost abeam of us, her black sails silhouetted against the Milky Way. I looked up and took a sharp breath. The constellation Orion could be seen, just over the _Pearl's_mainmast. A dark sense of foreboding returned from deep in my memory, and bound my heart with long, silky threads.

I held tight to the railing. Sleep had no appeal for me now – I dreaded finding Orion and his dog waiting in my dreams, crying _Danger, danger!_ But what was the danger? Whence did it come?

Looking astern once more, I could see no light under the doors to the captain's quarters; Hector had likely retired for what remained of the night. I left the deck and quietly entered the day room. Hector's soft snores grew louder as I stole into our private cabin.

I could dimly make out his sleeping form, lying on the bed at an angle, tangled in the bedsheets. I sat on the edge of the bed, and he stirred, surprised to see me. Before he could speak, I slipped into the bed with him, and wrapped my arms tightly about his waist.

He was warm and full of sleep, and he gathered me in, holding me close.

"I don't care if the world finds out we're wed," I whispered. "I _need_you so . . ." I kissed his collarbone.

He helped me pull off my clothes, and I pressed my body against his, from neck to knees, unwilling to allow the tiniest amount of space between us.

He rubbed his hands across my back, pushing gently against the side of my face with his nose and mouth. "I like the way ye do that," he murmured in my ear. I looked at him quizzically. "The way ye keep tryin' to get closer," he added. He cupped my chin with his hand and kissed me, forcing my lips apart with his tongue. Desire swept over me like flames through a parched forest, and I groaned loudly.

"Hush," he said quickly, and covered my mouth with his hand. He rolled my trembling body onto my back, and settled on top of me. I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away as he began rocking me with slow, heavy thrusts. Even at the peak of our lovemaking, I stifled my urge to cry out, gripping him violently as my muscles tightened. When all was accomplished, he settled me against his side, one arm around my shoulders.

"This be where I want t' find ye," he said, giving me a squeeze. "Not fritterin' yer time away at court."

"Oh, Hector . . ." Did he consider my escape from Newgate to be "frittering"? But perhaps, in a larger sense, he was right. I belonged here, not at court.

I tenderly brushed the back of my hand across the patch of wiry hair on his chest. "When I've discharged my orders, I won't need to return to London. Not until I'm summoned, at least."

After a moment, he spoke in a low, raspy whisper. "When be it your intention t' stop yer royal errands an' join in me ventures?"

The words hit me like a quick jab to the stomach. I had no answer – what with my own venture, and fretting over the Fountain, my mind had been fully occupied. I tried to make light of his question. "As though you would need my help in any of your ventures! What ever would I do – keep the books?"

"I could use a good purser."

I laughed under my breath, but I was shocked that he could take me seriously. "Do pirate ships have pursers?"

"I mean t' have one." He turned on his side so we were face to face. "Might as well be ye."

I felt as though a net were slowly being drawn closed, and I looked for an escape. "I don't think it would suit me. I'm dreadful at sums."

"Ye'd be paid."

The darkness hid my smile. Oh, yes, I would be "paid" in the sense that Hector could keep more plunder by claiming an extra share for me.

"I can make more as a Messenger." And it would be my own.

"If that's yer choice, then so be it." He withdrew his arm, and turned away from me, adding, "I advise ye t' dress yerself an' be in yer own berth before they call the next watch, Miss Bitter."

So much for diplomacy; now he was well and truly offended. I lay against his back, aching to make amends with hours of kisses and caresses, but it was too late. He had retreated into the brusque and dismissive humour that he always showed the world.

I finally rose from bed, reluctantly pulling on my clothes as he settled into sleep. The best I could hope for was that the remainder of the voyage would pass without incident, and I could make it all up to him once we reached Tortuga.

The wool mattress in my berth felt inflexible and itchy that night. I tossed and turned for ages before weariness carried me off but, once asleep, no dream of Orion troubled me.

-o-

When I emerged from my cabin that morning, I found Jeremy pacing about the main deck. "I'm glad to see you're on the mend," I said as I joined him.

The corners of his mouth widened into a smile, and I tried not to stare. It was a marvel to me how he could be so like his brother in looks and voice, yet so opposite in character.

"I haven't properly thanked you for all you've done," he said. "But I intend to see to it that you receive a generous reward from my superior."

"From King George?" I was sceptical. No one ever hoped for a generous reward from the royal skinflint.

He raised his brows. "Why, no, my dear. My superior is Lord Hervey and none other. I assumed you knew."

At that moment, I heard Hector on the quarterdeck, shouting orders for more sail.

"Does he always call his own orders?" asked Jeremy lightly.

Off-guard and distracted, I let the words tumble out. "Hardly ever. He usually has the bo'sun do it. I suppose he's keen to make port."

Then I quickly added, "As far as I know, of course."

But I was mortified by my lack of discretion. If I didn't watch my words, Jeremy would piece things together and discover everything, up to and including my marriage. I resolved to detach myself from Hector and play the role of disinterested party to the hilt.

"Good mornin', Miss Bitter, Mr Norrington!" I looked up to see Hector calling down to both of us.

I nodded formally to him, and turned away, head held high. With great relief, I spied Rufus near the hatchway. "Do excuse me," I said to Jeremy, and hastened off to speak with my old friend.

Rufus watched me hurry towards him. "Been 'aving a row?" he asked with a grin.

"Worse," I said. "I've not been cautious enough, and I feel as though Mr Norrington has my marital status under a microscope."

Rufus suddenly beamed. "As ye brought up microscopes, it seems t' me this be a fine time t' show ye me new surgery. 'Tes a reg'lar St Barts, though some o' me patients be better suited t' Bedlam." He laughed at his own joke and took me below deck to his surgery.

It was small but well-appointed, with room for all manner of instruments to hang upon the wall or be stored in cases, and a sturdy wooden table, long enough to accommodate a tall man. We sat face to face on two chairs that were intended to allow Rufus to perform operations on the skull or face whilst the sufferer was seated directly in front of him.

He poured out two drinks, and after expressing pride in his new surgery, took up the subject of our guest.

"Ee seems a well-spoke enough gent," he mused, swirling the rum in his mug. "But perhaps . . . a bit too inclined t' seek 'is own advantage?" He glanced at me quickly out of the corner of his eye.

"Impeccable judgement as usual, Rufus," I replied. "You must be wise as Solomon. His own brother was never easy around him. For my part, I shall be delighted to send him on his way. I hope we hear news of his ship in Tortuga."

"There always be news in Tortuga. 'Tes down t' which be truth and which be lies," he said, looking pensive. "Take me last visit. Many were swearin' that Blackbeard was dead – killed by Maynard's men, off the coast o' Carolina." He shrugged. "Tes feasible."

He studied his drink for a moment. "But others said Blackbeard come back t' life. Come back an' swimmed in circles about his ship. Mortal strange, sez I." He shook his head, the corners of his mouth arcing down. "If ye believe all ye hear in Tortuga, ye'll be seein' bogles in every shadow."

This made me recall Ponce de Leon. It seemed I had discovered a bogle without any help from Tortuga. I hesitated a moment, then asked, "Have you ever heard tales of the Fountain of Youth?"

"'A course I 'ave. 'Tes a legend that's been around since long before my time. Seems t' me I heared it called the sumpthin' o' Darkened Souls long ago, though why 'twould be, I couldn't tell ye. Never caught me fancy, livin' forever. Seems like meddlin' wi' things." He gave me a piercing look from under his straight grey brows. ""Not tryin' t' get t' the Fountain, I hope?"

"No." At least this was the truth. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't care for it at all." I took a last swig of rum. "Now let's have a look at those bullet extractors you spoke of."

-o-

Supper that night commenced with an announcement from Jeremy.

"I wish to apologise to the ladies for my, ah, _déshabillé_," he said to everyone. "I should have done so last evening." He managed to look embarrassed of his own appearance in a way that still conveyed genteel tolerance towards the humble attire of everyone else present.

"When we reach Tortuga, I shall lose no time in shedding my prisoner's garb for more presentable clothes." Then he fixed his hazel eyes upon me in a way that made my heart jump a bit, so closely did he resemble James. "In fact, Nina, I should greatly value a woman's opinion, if you would be so kind."

There didn't seem to be any harm in granting his request. I shrugged. "If you like, although I fear I'm very backward when it comes to fashion."

"Then it's settled!" He smiled at me, but I thought he was also keeping a sly watch on Hector. "You'll accompany me to the tailor's shop and help me choose."

A visit to the tailor was not what I had bargained for. Still, I hesitated to object. What reason could I give that would not be as obvious as producing a record of my marriage? And so I smiled and replied, "Of course," and avoided looking at Hector.

The remainder of our voyage was just as intolerable to me. Each supper discomfited me more than the one preceding it, and I spent most of my time walking the decks, sunk in my misery and insensible to the mild spring air.

Wariness prevented me from venturing another secret rendezvous with Hector, and so no private word was able to pass between us. I was lonely even in his presence, haunted by the fear that I might inadvertently betray myself to Jeremy.

After five days that felt like an eternity, our ships at last reached the Tortuga road. Exhilarated and impatient, I was like a prisoner who has served his term, and waits only to hear the key unlock his cell for the last time. Soon Jeremy would take his leave! My promise to go with him to the tailor seemed far less of a burden now that the end of my assignment was in sight.

As we were setting our anchors, a longboat was rowed over from the_Pearl_ and, moments later, Jack appeared on our deck. He sauntered over to me and drew me out of earshot from everyone else.

"Right, darlin', I'll have me compass back now, if you wouldn't mind." He held out his hand and I surrendered it at once.

He held it up for a moment. "You shouldn't play games with this, love. It could save your life some fine day."

"I'm sorry, Jack. You did promise to help with my errand, and I thought this might help you, umm, make the right decision." I looked abashed, and he grinned.

"Ah, that's alright love. You couldn't help taking it – you come by it naturally. Runs in the family, savvy?" He patted my cheek.

Then he spied Jeremy at the other end of the deck and his kohl-rimmed eyes grew round with surprise. "Bloody hell, looks just like 'im," he said nervously.

"They weren't on good terms. He seems quite ready to do business with pirates, and he blames Beckett for, for—well, you know." I looked away from Jack quickly.

Even though more than a year had passed, I still found it difficult to say the words, _James' murder_. I wondered if Davy Jones had asked him the fatal question: do you fear death? I knew what his answer would have been.

Brave and true to the last, that was James Norrington.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 11 - The Gathering Storm -** Jeremy learns the fate of the _Berwick_, and Nina discovers more about his mission, while her own situation takes a turn for the worse.


	11. The Gathering Storm

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**The Gathering Storm**

As soon as we could arrange two berths, we brought our ships to the dock, rather than leave them anchored in the harbour. Most of the men lost no time in going ashore, and all were in a fever to spend their shares of the Spanish gold. Hector tasked an unlucky few with making repairs to the _Medusa_, refusing them shore leave until the work was done. Experience had shown him the state they would be in, once they began carousing in Tortuga.

After we had moored the _Medusa,_ I found that her choppy movements as she bounced against the dock were making me feel unwell. By midday, I determined that going ashore and standing on solid ground might improve matters. Furthermore, I had an errand to undertake.

As I made for the gangway, I spied Elizabeth standing some distance away, and I waved to her. "I'm off to the Faithful Bride!"

She waved back, nodding. We were both keen to hear something from Mr Defoe and receive a profit from our smuggling investment.

There were very few customers present when I entered the humid, stale-smelling taproom and approached the barman. He stood with his back to me, arranging a multitude of tankards that hung on hooks from the ceiling.

"Pardon me," I said. "Have you any letters for N Bitter or E Turner?"

"Who's askin'?" he said, without turning.

"Nina Bitter."

"An' wot's it worth to 'er?" He continued fussing over the tankards, some of which had names or initials of customers carved into them.

Just then, someone coughed, and a hand was placed upon my shoulder. I turned, and was startled to find Edward Teague standing behind me. "My dear father!" I exclaimed. "How wonderful to see you!"

His cough had caught the barman's attention as well, who turned quickly to face us. "Cap'n Teague," he murmured with a deferential nod. He left the taproom at once, and returned with a thick letter which he handed to me. It looked as though a herd of goats had trampled it.

My father's dark eyes studied me, and I knew he was assessing my health and spirits. Then he gave a single nod towards the door. "This way, m'girl," he said in his low, commanding voice. With that, he led me to an establishment near the Bride, but of a more luxurious nature, called the Brass Monkey.

I soon found myself in a private room, enjoying a lavish dinner with the Keeper of the Code. His quiet, steady gaze made it difficult to believe that this was the same man whose fixed, black stare could terrify the most savage of adversaries. As we talked, I felt my confidence increase and my nerves settle. The sick feeling that had plagued me earlier also seemed to dissipate.

He had not yet spoken with Jack, and so I had much to tell him. I had just finished the story of Jeremy's missing ship, when he raised one hand and stopped me. "There's someone ye should meet," he said, rising from his chair.

He strode to the door and said something to the potboy waiting outside. I heard the boy's footsteps thumping down the stairs as he hastened to do the great Captain Teague's bidding, and shortly afterwards, there was a timid knock on the door.

"Come in, Stuffy," my father growled.

The door cracked open just wide enough to admit a short, wispy man with beady eyes and a sharp nose that gave him the air of a timid rat. He looked at my father with a mix of fear and respect.

"Stuffy's a lookout on Rediker's ship, and he's got a tale for you," said my father, then turned his gaze upon the nervous pirate. "The one about the cutter. Out with it." He nudged a chair with the toe of his boot.

Stuffy sat down gratefully and cleared his throat. "I'm always on duty for the first dog watch," he began. "An' me watch was near over when it happened." He wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"Stop," I said. "When was this? And where were you sailing?"

"'Pologies," he said. "We were bound fer the waters round Cayo Hueso. West by northwest. 'Twere last year – on St Swithin's Day."

I was perplexed. Why would my father want me to hear a yarn that was nearly a year old, and what did I care about the weather?

Stuffy hadn't noticed my frown. He rocked himself a bit, squinting. "I recollect it, because I was partic'lar anxious about the weather. They say that whatever the weather be on that day, 'twill be the same for the next forty days." He paused to pass his sleeve over his face again. "So, the weather be fair. Clear skies, followin' seas."

I stole a look at Teague. He sat slumped in his chair, holding a bottle of rum on his knee, and I wondered if he were even awake.

"Right, then. Good weather; late afternoon." I tried to avoid sounding testy. "And then?"

"Near the end of me watch, the sun began t' set. That's when ye might see a green flash, so I stared off to the west, thinkin' I might see one. That's when I saw the ship." Another wipe with his sleeve.

"What ship? Do you mean you saw the _Berwick_?"

He brightened. "Aye! The _Berwick_! I knew 'twas her because I seen 'er in Tortuga – a cutter, flyin' merchant colours. But now she was flyin' the Jolly Roger, an' I thought, well, she must be chasin' a prize – that's when ye hoist yer pirate colours."

I glanced at my father, but couldn't see whether his eyes were open. I was beginning to feel a bit sick again, and I wished Stuffy would get to the point.

"But she weren't chasin' no prize. There were only one other ship out there, and she was chasin' the _Berwick_, comin' on fast. Damnation fast."

"And so she took the _Berwick_?" I prompted. But he paused for a moment, and seemed to be sorting his thoughts.

"Now, mind ye," he resumed, sitting forward in his chair. "'Twas fair skies as the sun drew down t' the water, but there were a haze on the horizon. Can ye picture it, miss? That sort o' weather tricks yer eyes. But I know when I be lookin' at a mirage. Been a lookout since I were a little lad."

His eyes bored into me like gimlets. "An' I say, a mirage don't figure into it."

I slanted my eyes at him as my attention sharpened. I sensed the presence of something uncanny.

He fidgeted with his sleeve a bit, then went on. "As the sun dropped down on the horizon, it looked spread out, like 'twas meltin' into the sea, because o' the haze. The sun was right behind the _Berwick_, an' the other ship closin' on her. Just as the sun dropped a hair lower, the _Berwick _disappeared."

A heavy sigh of disappointment escaped my lips. "Haze does that, Stuffy. It creates a false horizon that makes objects 'disappear'. Didn't you tell me you know about mirages?"

"Aye – but it weren't a mirage, miss. Only the _Berwick_ was gone – _why was the other ship still there?_"

"Perhaps the _Berwick_ sailed beyond the horizon," I offered.

He swiped his sleeve at his nose. "Nay, miss. The _Berwick_ disappeared in plain sight o' me, and never been seen or heard of since."

"Then it must have foundered."

He shook his head, insistent. "I seen many a ship sink, but this 'un was gone in a flash. In fair seas. In good weather." He spat on his long, thin fingers, and pinched the wick of the nearest candle, snuffing out the flame. "There – like that."

It was a wild, improbable story. But the very fact that my father had brought Stuffy to tell me meant that he thought it true. The _Berwick _had vanished off the face of the earth.

"What became of the other ship? Did you recognise her?" I asked.

"Can't say what become of 'er – she was that far off," Stuffy replied. "And I didn't know 'er, nor saw her ever again. She was a dark ship, dark as night and fast as the devil . . ." he paused for emphasis, "An' I swear to ye, she was a caravel."

I blinked. "A caravel? You're saying you saw a _caravel_? How would you even know what one looked like?"

"I seen plenty of 'em drawed out on old maps," he replied, quite reasonably.

There was movement at last from my father. He shifted his weight and looked at me. "So now ye know. Best take 'im to Norrington."

-o-

A few hours later, I was seated in Hector's day room, alone with Stuffy and Jeremy. Stuffy had repeated his story, and Jeremy had plied him with questions before politely dismissing him.

"Evidently, she sank," he announced, as soon as Stuffy was gone.

I wasn't so sure. "A very odd sinking, to hear him tell it."

"You can't believe types like that," he replied with contempt. "I was ready to throttle the bastard if he wiped his nose one more time. I'd wager that story of his has bought him enough rum to float a first-rater."

I had hoped that this news would discourage Jeremy from involving me in a hunt for the _Berwick_. It did, but I was not to be free of him yet.

He frowned, drumming his fingers for a moment. "So it seems I shall need a ship. Then we can be off on my mission."

"Do you really need my assistance now?" I asked. "What could I possibly contribute?"

His eyes flicked towards me, then he stared across the room, lost in thought. "They must have sent you here for a reason. Perhaps you have something, or you know something. Perhaps you don't know what it is that you know." He blew out his breath, and seemed to arrive at a decision. "Well, the _Medusa_ would serve quite well. Let us see if your friend the pirate Captain will join in this venture. When I say it involves limitless gold, I assure you that he won't be disappointed."

I excused myself and, taking Defoe's letter along, went to find Elizabeth. When we had read through his report and divided up the money, we were surprised and elated to see how much we had gained.

"Do you think you'll invest in more ventures?" Elizabeth asked as she tucked her share away in a pocket. "I should think one could live quite comfortably if this represents a typical profit."

"I might do more than invest," I replied. "As soon as I decide, I shall give you a full account of my plans."

Defoe's letter had put me in an excellent humour, and I was inclined to view the world in rosy hues, as I returned to my cabin. The day had turned out to be quite pleasant, or so I thought.

I felt sure of Hector joining Jeremy's venture. He had promised me no less, and had never been known to break an accord. Best of all, Jeremy's venture would keep Hector from seeking the Fountain – at least, for the moment.

After supper, Jeremy, Hector and I met in the day room to discuss his venture. But instead of acquiescing as I had hoped, Hector became cagey and difficult.

He smiled dismissively at Jeremy. "Fer one thing, I don't know what ye mean by 'limitless gold'. Ye must speak plain to a plain old mariner."

I looked away so neither man could see me roll my eyes.

"I mean more than enough to fill several ships of this size," Jeremy replied.

Hector took a swig from his tankard. "Ye see, I'm not wantin' fer gold at the present time. I didn't leave Havana empty-handed."

"I find it hard to believe a pirate has no use for gold," said Jeremy.

Hector shrugged and eyed the bowl of apples on the table. "So yer venture were to sail to wherever this gold be-and do what?"

"Claim an object of a certain sort, for the Crown," Jeremy looked politely regretful. "I'm not at liberty to give out any more details. I've already told you more than I ought."

"Humph….well, here's what I'll do for ye," said Hector, selecting an apple. "Me crew will be refreshin' themselves here, as will I. After we spend the swag we've already got, I might consider yer proposal." He bit into the apple, and slowly chewed it as the juices ran into his beard.

I gave no sign, but was very discomfited. Was Hector bluffing or did he actually intend to decline Jeremy's proposal? I stole several glances at him, but he wouldn't return my looks. Instead, he watched Jeremy's reaction and slowly consumed his apple.

"Fair enough, Captain, but I'm afraid that's too great a delay. I shall find another ship," Jeremy replied. Then he turned to me. "And you shall sail with me, my dear. I'll see that you're properly compensated."

"Ye can't succeed at yer mission without Miss Bitter, here?" asked Hector, his face relaxing into an amused smile.

"She showed boldness and resourcefulness in Havana," said Jeremy, raising his brows. "I cannot see how she would be a liability."

Hector shrugged. "Then 'tis plain ye have no need o' my counsel."

"Nor mine," I put in quickly. I wasn't about to be separated from Hector. "Surely once you have a ship, you can proceed without me."

The corners of Jeremy's mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile, but his eyes held determination. "I hate to insist, but you were, in fact, ordered to help me. We'll leave Captain Barbossa and his men to indulge in the fleshly pleasures they must be craving."

Hector chuckled lazily, never a good sign. "Surely the lady must follow her own inclinations" His voice sounded like velvet.

Jeremy shrugged. "The lady must follow her orders, I'm afraid," he drawled. I had the uncomfortable sensation of being a shuttlecock in the midst of a volley.

But Hector merely shrugged. "Well, ye have me answer."

"Do think it over, Captain. Perhaps you'll change your mind," Jeremy replied with a little smile.

-0-

Later that evening, as the day room's dark walls glowed like burnished copper in the lantern light, I confronted Hector. Although I was weary, I could not rest until he explained why he had acted contrary to our agreement.

"I don't understand - you promised me not a week ago that you would join me on my errand," I said.

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of Hector's fingertips as he brushed them idly back and forth across the table's surface. After a moment or two, he said, "There be somethin' other than gold he's after. Something more precious than gold."

I held up my hands. "Why does it matter?"

"I prefer t' strike an honest bargain with no surprises," he growled. "I'll have none of his mysteries. So what does he want?"

"Who knows? I'm obliged to help him, whatever it is, even if I have to go it alone. Those were my orders."

He narrowed his eyes. "Where be these orders?" he purred. "I'm inclined t' look 'em over."

I started for the door, intending to retrieve my Way Bill, but stopped abruptly. That document contained only some of my instructions. The order to assist Jeremy had been given me by word of mouth.

I turned back to Hector as calmly as possible. "I'm afraid I can't. That part was not written down. I was told by the King to assist with his mission."

He did not reply at once, but I sensed his growing suspicion as he regarded me impassively, sharp eyes glinting beneath his heavy eyelids.

"So you expect to go rovin' the seas with Norrington," he said at last, with a chuckle. "And I've nothin' but yer word that these be yer orders?"

He wielded his words as skilfully as his sword, and they cut me just as keenly.

"I expect to do my job," I snapped, as my cheeks reddened. "And what precisely do you mean by 'nothing but your word'?"

He rose from his chair and braced himself with both palms on the table. "Ye brought him on me ship without tellin' me who he was. Ye'll forgive me if I'm sceptical regardin' yer unwritten orders."

In other circumstances I would have tried to make amends, but his unkind speech had made me angry. "I asked you," I sputtered, "I asked you whether one can break an accord if something changes later. You said no! Well, after we were in Havana, I found out the prisoner was Jeremy."

"Then why didn't ye tell me his name in Havana?" He crossed his arms.

I swallowed, hoping my chest would stop aching, to no avail. I was angry at myself for deceiving him, and furious at him for pointing it out.

"I feared you would refuse to take him with us," I tried to explain. "Where would that have left me? What would you have had me do?"

"Trust in me merciful nature!" he shouted. I jumped as he banged his fist on the table for emphasis. "I've done naught t' earn such suspicion!"

"I trusted your word that you would join me in helping Jeremy," I answered stiffly.

"Aye, but we never discussed when. I'm disinclined to put His Worship before me own well-earned rest." Then he gave me a sly look. "If ye had told me his name sooner, I would have let ye know before now."

I tried to throttle my temper. "So this is entirely concerned with teaching me a lesson," I said coldly. "You've just illustrated why I didn't reveal his name until it was safe to do so."

My heart was thudding roughly. I was becoming too upset to argue any more. I was seized by a violent desire to get out of the room and away from him. I made for the door with long, quick strides. Before I could open it, a strong hand gripped my wrist, pulling me gently but firmly away from the door.

To my great annoyance, angry tears threatened to fill my eyes. I tried to look down at my boots, determined that Hector should see no weakness in me, but he tipped my face up to meet his gaze.

He squinted at me for a moment. "When did I ever take advantage of ye?" he demanded. He thrust his chin out as he spoke, but his voice was not so harsh.

"You abandoned me in the tunnel under Highcliffe," I said, keeping tight control of my voice.

He rolled his eyes. "A temporary precaution to keep ye from gettin' killed."

"You stole my weapons."

"Did I?" He seemed amused.

"Five times."

"Surely, 'twere only four."

I flashed a quick, accusing look at him and saw traces of a smile at one corner of his mouth.

How could this man exasperate me so, and still make me feel an irresistible desire to laugh and forgive? But I refused to give him the victory; I dug in my heels.

"Split hairs if you like. It doesn't change my orders." I tried to free my arm, but he pulled me close to his chest.

He gazed at me for a moment, caressing my chin with his thumb. My resentment began to soften and slowly dissolve, and his nearness compelled me at last to put my arms about his waist.

"That's better," he said.

He used one hand to cradle the back of my head, and leaned towards me. His kiss was long and tender.

I rested my cheek against his chest and closed my eyes. "I regret not telling you," I said. "I've never been one to confide in people, even those I love most. But I trust you as much as I'm able, and if I knew anything more about his mission, I would tell you."

He seemed to accept this, and our parting was friendly enough; but he still refused to join Jeremy's venture. There was nothing I could do, except put the matter out of my mind and get a good night's rest. But as I lay in bed, my mind seized on a different topic and I began to ruminate on the dark ship Stuffy claimed to have seen. He had to have been mistaken. Columbus may have used them, but no one had put to sea in a caravel for ages.

Unexpectedly, I thought of Ponce de Leon's journal. Did it name the type of ship he had? The question nagged at me until I finally lit a candle and fished the book out of my duffel. But I found nothing - only a reference to sailing in a small, armed ship.

I put the journal away. What had I expected to discover? That Ponce de Leon was not only still alive, but sailing the seas in a caravel? And attacking ships? No. Stuffy had made a mistake, and that was all there was to it.

But Edward Teague didn't make mistakes.

\- o -

The next day began with a lovely spring morning, warm and dry, with gentle winds blowing from the southeast. All the same, I felt a bit queasy as the ship rocked under me. I had never been seasick in my life, and this was an unpleasant turn of events. I was relieved to get a note from Jeremy, asking me to meet him on the main deck and accompany him to the tailor. A walk in town would do me good.

When I emerged onto the main deck, I saw Jeremy conversing with Hector, who seemed vaguely out of sorts. Jeremy was his usual convivial self, breaking off their discussion as I approached, and greeting me warmly.

"You'll excuse us, Captain," he said. "We've much business in town. And undoubtedly you've some of your own," he added with a knowing smile. "But we shall all meet for supper at the Faithful Bride. One last evening before we go our separate ways."

Hector grunted and turned away without looking at me. Just before I followed Jeremy to the gangplank, I looked up and saw Elizabeth on the bridge, watching the entire scene, her forehead knotted in a frown.

Jeremy took me first to a goldsmith, where he received a quantity of money that he had left for safekeeping. Then, he made the suggestion that perhaps he should buy piece goods at the tailor's, thus saving a great deal of time.

"I'm sure there will be no shortage of fine clothes from which to choose – all plundered, of course." He laughed. "And I suppose they'll try to get every penny they can from me."

I had been eyeing his coat as we walked. Though it had been poorly kept, it was still quite magnificent. I tugged at its cuff. "They'll give you something for this, at least. They can clean it, or cut it – but no doubt they can sell it."

"I fear the coat isn't for sale or trade," he replied. "And you must hold it for me when I'm trying things on."

"But it's quite shabby now," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Why would you want to be seen in it when you can get another?"

"I'm sentimental," he said, pleasantly. But something in his voice told me that I would not get another word out of him.

The tailor brought out an extravagant collection of goods; velvet coats of the same hue as Indian peacocks, pale rose waistcoats with golden embroidery, and the like. But Jeremy chose simpler clothes that made him look quite the country gentleman: a plain, brick-red coat with no embellishments on the cuffs, a waistcoat of the same dark olive-green as the coat's collar, and tan breeches.

He glanced over the various wigs on offer, then turned to me. "Shall I wear my own hair, or must I have one of these?"

"Oh, I prefer your own hair, certainly," I said. "But won't you tell me where we're bound? After all, I may need to get clothes for myself."

He looked pleased, and drew near so that we could converse privately. "You'll find the clothes you have will serve well enough," he said quietly. "And as for where we're bound, I suppose it's time I told you. Our destination is the lost city of Huesos Blanqueados. It has been abandoned since the days of the conquistadors, and I am the only person who knows where it is." He peered at me intently, a faint smile on his lips, gauging my reaction.

"I've never heard the name," I replied. "And this is the location of the gold you spoke of?"

"My dear, the very sands glitter with it. I really think your friends should reconsider."

\- 0 -

The noise at the Faithful Bride was deafening that night, as roistering groups of pirates drank, sang, fought and bellowed. I had arrived last of all our group, and stood at the door uncertainly, looking for Hector. Finally, I caught a glimpse of his hat, in a secluded alcove near the back of the room.

I started towards him, threading my way through the crowd, avoiding the tankards and bottles that occasionally flew through the air, but when I drew close enough to see how he was occupied, I stopped.

He was in the midst of a group of men I did not recognise. They were all seated around a table watching a woman dance naked on it. All of them were drinking, shouting, and tossing coins at her feet, whilst other wenches perched on their laps, laughing and encouraging them.

I thought Hector might have seen me, but if he did, he took no notice. I was trying to decide whether to interrupt his revels, when there was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to find Jeremy at my side. "Our table is over there," he shouted, pointing. "I'm sure Barbossa will join us later."

I joined Jack, Jeremy, Elizabeth and Rufus at the table, and made a concentrated effort to enjoy the company around me. Still, I positioned my chair so that I could see and be seen by Hector. Jeremy seemed especially lively, and engaged me in several animated conversations. At intervals, I would steal a look at Hector's table, but he was always fully absorbed in the low entertainment before him. At last, to a great roar of approval (and my infinite relief), the woman finished her dancing.

Jeremy leaned close to my ear. "Will you excuse me for a moment? Could you keep an eye on the coat?" I nodded and he handed me the coat. He seized a bottle of rum and topped off my tankard before leaving the table. I was beginning to feel the effects of too much supper and rum, and it was increasingly difficult to take in everything around me.

Jack was sitting across from me, and I noticed he was trying to catch my eye. "What?" I said, and he raised an eyebrow at the ragged coat in my lap. "He's dead set on keeping it," I explained, with less than perfect diction. My brother immediately slid around to sit next to me.

With a nod in Hector's direction, he spoke directly into my ear. "Go say hello to the Old Man. I'll watch the coat."

Reluctantly, I left him with it, and approached Hector. I did my best to catch his eye, but he was engrossed in talking to the others at the table. The woman who had been dancing came back in a lurid gown of salmon and red, to accolades from her audience, and offers she refused with a raucous laugh.

I returned to Jack's table without saying a word to Hector. "He seems rather busy at the moment," I said, taking the coat back.

When Jeremy returned, I gave him the coat, and began a spirited discussion with him, forcing myself to look far more interested than I was. After several minutes of pointless banter, Jeremy looked past my shoulder, and noted casually, "Barbossa seems to have called it a night."

"Has he?" I turned to look, and saw that Hector's chair was now empty. Several of the men had now either quieted down or wandered off, and the dancing woman had apparently moved on as well.

Mildly surprised, I turned back to my companions, and noticed that Elizabeth was scowling. I would have asked her the reason, but the warmth and smell of the taproom suddenly overwhelmed me.

I rose hastily from my seat. "Do forgive me – I must step outside," I said to Jeremy.

Once outside, I waited to see whether my symptoms would improve or grow worse. Ten minutes or so in the cool, fresh air was enough to bring me round, but I decided it would be more prudent to go back to the _Medusa_, rather than invite another attack.

When I boarded our ship, there was light under the doors to the captain's quarters. I realised that Jeremy was still with the others at the tavern, leaving me alone with Hector. I hesitated, still feeling somewhat raw over his inattention at the Bride. But I knew that this might be my last chance to see him, to say an affectionate farewell, before I would have to follow Jeremy in search of a new ship.

If I didn't delay, I would have enough time.

I opened the door and stepped inside. Hector was standing near the table, his eyes wide with surprise at seeing me. He didn't speak, but managed a half-smile, and a short laugh under his breath, a single, slightly embarrassed _"Hrmph_."

My eyes travelled to the table, where I saw two tankards, an open bottle of rum, and Hector's hat. And I knew, I simply knew. I stared at him in utter shock, and a voice came from our sleeping quarters.

"Come along, ducks! I 'aven't got all night!"

He tried to catch me before I reached the door, but I moved like lightning. Then I froze, with Hector standing motionless just behind me.

The dancing woman was reclining in our bed.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 12 – Shattered** – In which Nina must make an important decision, and Jeremy acquires a ship.


	12. Shattered

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

**Shattered**

It was as if the floor had fallen away under my feet. Anguished shock broke over me like some monstrous wave crashing ashore, and I stood motionless, drenched in betrayal. But in the next instant, my father's temper, heretofore dormant, seemed to explode within me.

Baring my teeth, I lunged at the woman and grabbed her by the hair. "Get out!" I shouted. I dragged her to her feet and shoved her into the day room. Snatching her petticoats off the bed, I turned to Hector with murder in my eyes and pointed at the woman.

"_Pay_ her!" I demanded. "This damned well isn't _her_ fault!"

As Hector made haste to give her some coins, I strode across the day room. I threw open the door, and flung her petticoats out upon the deck. By now, I was shaking with fury.

"Keep moving!" I ordered her.

She held the coins nonchalantly in one hand. "I'm not leavin' 'ere before I've dressed," she sniffed.

"You danced on that table without being dressed," I put my hand on the hilt of my scimitar and felt the muscles in my shoulders begin to tighten, like an animal about to spring. "Get out. Now." Hector watched from across the room, keeping utterly still. He was gazing at me as though a wild lion had let itself into his quarters, and one false move might prove fatal to him.

The woman departed with a smirk and I slammed the door after her.

Hector made a few attempts at clearing his throat, and I realised he was far from sober. "I thought ye were at the Faithful Bride," he mumbled.

"And I thought you were true to me," I snapped, my eyes flashing fire. "Apparently, we're both wrong."

"I know yer wonderin'-," he began, but I interrupted.

"Indeed I am. I'm wondering what you do while I'm in London, since this is what you do when I'm right here."

"Damn London!" he shouted suddenly. "That be all ye want – to go back to London so's ye can gallivant with rakehells!"

My temper soared to match his. "Gallivant with rakehells? How? By escaping from prison? Or having the King throw a smelly old wig at me?"

"I should never have agreed t' yer joinin' the court!" Red-faced, he began lecturing me loudly. "They're hangers-on; every man-jack of 'em lookin' fer a quick romp with a silly moll."

"How dare you!" I shouted. Narrowing my eyes, I went on in steely tones. "I doubt not that you've amply consoled yourself in Tortuga, sir. And the men you call hangers-on are poets, diplomats, philosophers . . ."

"I call 'em what they are, madam!" he bellowed. "If you're too bewitched by the glitter t' see it, 'tis no concern o' mine." He began to pace about the room.

"If I've been bewitched by anyone it was you!" I glared at him, my hands on my hips. "But no longer!"

Hector stopped moving, and watched as I marched to the door and turned to face him.

He took a step towards me. "Don't you _dare_ follow me," I said in a quiet, threatening voice, wanting to put a million miles between myself and Hector Barbossa. I walked out, slamming the door.

At first, I had a momentary fear that he would come after me and begin another row or worse, but thankfully, he did not. There must have been something in my voice, an echo of my father, perhaps. Whatever it was, I suspected that he didn't quite dare to cross me.

Tears stung my eyes as I seized my duffel and left the _Medusa_, not caring who saw me or what they might think. My emotions overran me, swirling like a storm tide, and my only thought was to find refuge. Fortunately, everyone was still in town; the ships and dock were deserted. Without pausing to think, I quickly boarded the _Pearl_.

I slung the duffel over my shoulder and climbed the ratlines to the dark, empty crow's nest. There I huddled, hugging my knees, until the shock and outrage faded, leaving only the hurt. When I could no longer keep hold of my anger, my body sagged. At last, I lay on my side and began sobbing.

Long ago, Hector had told me to save my tears for when I needed them. What a foolish saying that was! I had more than enough, and always would.

How could I ever have thought it would end differently? I should never have believed him. He had probably tired of me only days after my return. Perhaps he had thought to hand me off to Jeremy. My aching chest felt hollow, scraped clean of fleshy tissue, scorched from the inside, like the empty gourds my uncle would bring back from exotic places.

Now I would be alone forever. I had always known that Hector could produce the greatest joy in me, and by that same power, he could inflict the greatest pain. I had taken that chance, trusted and loved him, and this was the result.

The worst was that, even now, I desperately wanted him to say or do something that would close the wound he had made. I would have gone to him at once, and never looked back. But he wouldn't, and I couldn't. Everything was broken, ruined.

At first, no one interrupted my solitude. But after I had given vent to my despair for an hour or so, I heard the ratlines creak and sway under a heavy weight. Someone was climbing them. Still curled into a ball, I lifted my head to see who it was.

"It's no use, Brat," said a familiar voice. "I always know where to find you." Jack's head popped up through the opening next to the mast.

He surveyed the scene for a moment, as I lay there, unmoving. "So . . . how long do you mean to stay here?" he finally asked, squinting his cat-like eyes.

"Until I die," I replied dully, and lowered my head again.

"Ah! Well, no worries, then." I heard him climb down the ratlines.

I wanted everyone to keep away. I wanted to disappear forever. I imagined the _Pearl_ far in the future, derelict, abandoned. I would still be lying in the crow's nest, withered and desiccated, with my horribly broken heart. I embraced the pyrrhic image with a kind of grim satisfaction, turning it over and over in my mind.

The ratlines pulled and creaked again, and Jack said, "Here y' go, love. You'll be needin' this."

I opened my eyes and found him holding out a lily. "I'll bring the priest next," he remarked, laying the flower next to me.

"I presume you know what happened," I said, regarding him ruefully. "I suppose you're glad. You did warn me." He wedged himself into the nest, and, with difficulty, found room to sit cross-legged beside me.

"Darlin'," he said. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, remember? Of course I know what happened. The question is – do you?" He pointed a finger at me.

I was bewildered. "What is there to know? He had that-that woman from the tavern lounging in our bed! Must I draw you a picture?"

Jack winced. "Not his finest hour, I admit." Then he surprised me, adding, "But we all make mistakes."

"Why would you say that?" I asked. "You hate him, wholeheartedly."

"Indeed! Wholeheartedly! But . . ." he hesitated, holding one finger against his chin for a moment. "There's Cotton's parrot to consider." He sighed. "Though it pains me to say it, darlin', as I listened to that parrot blow the gaff on you lovebirds, it struck me that I've never heard either of you sound quite so happy."

I gulped, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

Jack leaned towards me. "He makes you _happy_, mouse. Don't deny it, an' don't go flingin' it away, unless you're dead certain you won't regret it."

Perhaps my heart was not a charred cinder after all, because some tender longing stirred in its ashes at Jack's words. "You want us to reconcile because you truly feel that we make each other happy?"

He turned wary at this, his eyes looking off to one side. "Aye."

So there was more to it. "And what other reason might there be?" I probed. "You're a wonderful liar, Jack, but you may as well tell me."

He grinned. "Good old Brat – should've known you'd twig it." Then, gesturing with one ringed finger, he explained in a conspiratorial voice. "I hear Norrington's planning to sail to a city of gold. In spite of the fact that 'is previous ship was somehow"-his fingers made a rippling motion-"made away with." A gleam appeared in his eyes. "Now. It'd be a shame to fill only one ship with that gold when there's more 'n enough for two. But, if you and your dearly beloved were to patch things up, then Jeremy might be persuaded to do the prudent thing.

"And that is?" Somehow, I knew what was coming.

"Take two ships instead of one to this lost city. Better protection against mysterious vessels, savvy? An' pay 'em both with the gold that's lyin' about."

I sat bolt upright, marvelling at his sheer effrontery. "The second ship being the _Pearl_."

He frowned as if he were mentally ticking off a list of ships, then answered, "Yup. That's the one."

"Take him yourself," I retorted.

Jack shook his head. "Not on the _Pearl_, love. I'm not havin' Jeremy Norrington snoopin' about when I've got Sao Feng's map aboard. He needs to be on another ship – _your_ ship."

I was incredulous. "And so I am supposed to sail with a man who has shown every indication of wishing to repudiate his marriage to me, your own sister? A man I discovered in the midst of his low pleasures with that—that creature from the Bride? Just so you can enrich yourself? Is that what you're asking?"

My brother lowered his head a bit, and I saw his eyes travel from one side of the crow's nest to the other. Then he lifted his head and looked at me brightly. "Aye!" he said with a pleased little smile. "I like the way you've put it."

"I thought you were bent on finding the Fountain," I said.

"It's the map, darlin'. Not workin'." He locked eyes with me. "But I could do with some gold. Can't keep seekin' the bloody thing when I'm skint, savvy? A ship costs money."

I exhaled, and thought. If I could ignore my shattered marriage, I could actually see a benefit in this. If Hector and Jack went with Jeremy, they would be safe from the Fountain.

Jack interrupted my train of thought. "By the by, Lizzie wants to see you. She's in me quarters, an' no one's about." He held up a hand, forestalling my protest. "All I'm sayin' is, hear her out, eh? Will ye do that? You can always pop back up 'ere an' die later on, if ye like."

I was absolutely convinced that the confident 'Lizzie' had never known heartache and estrangement from a loved one, but I allowed Jack the victory, and went down to the _Pearl's_ day room. Elizabeth was sitting at the table, waiting for me with a serious look on her face.

Frowning, she took in my distressed appearance in one sweeping glance, and set her mouth in a firm line. "I must speak plainly," she said. Obviously, she knew my predicament.

I twisted my hands together in my lap. "Don't make excuses for him," I said, with a touch of my old anger. "He's sure to have it all worked out."

I drew myself up straight and began to mimic Hector glibly explaining it all. "I swear she were cold and shiverin', sweetheart, and I only brought her aboard because I pitied her. Then her clothes be wet, so I made her take them off to dry them, and sent her to bed to stay warm!" I sank back in my seat, folded my arms tightly, and glared at Elizabeth. "That's how dull and backward he thinks me!"

She looked shocked. "He most certainly does not!" Then she regarded me intently. "Think, now: what did you actually see? Was he with her?"

"I arrived too early for that," I said scornfully. "Thanks to feeling sick all day. No, I saw two tankards and a bottle of rum in the day room. That's where he was, and then _she_ called out from the sleeping room – from our bed, if you please."

To my surprise, Elizabeth nodded. "That fits perfectly. Look – I'll tell you what I know, and then you can judge for yourself."

"As you wish," I said, privately vowing not to be moved by anything she said.

"When I saw you this morning," she began, "I had just been listening to Jeremy tell Barbossa that he was ordering you along on his mission, and intending to see that you went back to court afterwards. As he put it, 'where she clearly belongs, and longs to be'. He's been convincing Barbossa all along that you didn't want to be here."

"I don't understand," I stammered.

But I recalled Jeremy saying that I must have something or know something. Something that he needed for his mission. He was trying to isolate me, the better to place me under his control.

"Before you came along," Elizabeth was saying, "I had only seen Barbossa show affection to that monkey!" She peered at me. "Can't you see how he_ loves_ you? He's afraid he is losing you." Jumping up from her seat in exasperation, she began walking about, rubbing her belly with one hand.

"I kept watching the two of you in the taproom!" she said. "Every time he looked over at you, you were pretending to flirt with Jeremy."

"Not so!" I objected.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not – but that's what it looked like to Barbossa. So then he would scowl and start paying attention to those - women. And of course then you would turn to look at him! It kept happening and happening, until I thought I'd go mad! I was ready to scream at the both of you to _just stop it!_"

She returned to her seat and continued. "When Jeremy left the table, I'm sure it was no coincidence. He must have paid that woman to approach Barbossa and leave with him. Jeremy was probably going to wait a bit longer and then suggest that you go back to the _Medusa_. But you didn't feel well, and that prompted you to leave sooner." She gave me an odd look. "Are you still having the green sickness?"

"Somewhat," I replied, my mind on Hector and the woman. "But he did go back with her."

Elizabeth sighed. "Yes, he did. And I won't sit here and tell you he's a saint. If you hadn't come back, . . ." She shrugged, conceding the point. "But Nina - he's an older man who, well, let's just say that, although I know what he means to you, he's not everyone's cup of tea. Why would he turn down an offer like that when he thinks he's already lost you?"

She saw me wavering, and offered her final argument. "And the fact is, you seem to have walked in before the worst could happen."

That was true. I sat silent for a while. "We fought," I finally said in a choked voice. "It was awful. And now I can't make myself trust him. Not the way I did before. I've felt enough pain in the past hour to last me a lifetime."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I didn't say it would be easy to mend fences. But I have found out one thing about marriage." She looked very earnest as she advised me. "It has its bliss and its sorrows. At times it's quite painful," she looked off for a moment, and I thought I saw a slight flush of emotion on her face. "But it will change again, and you'll see the beauty in it. And you won't understand how you could ever have let it get into such a bad state to begin with."

She glanced at me. "You should wash your face before you see him," she said. "I want you to try to put things back in order with Barbossa. After tomorrow, I won't be here, handing out advice." She smiled regretfully. "I'm staying behind because of my confinement – I can't risk a voyage of unknown duration just now. Rufus is taking me to his daughter Jen in St Thomas. I'll probably see you after the birth."

This was dismal news to me, but I tried to be gracious. "I'm sure you'll be a wonderful mother," I said.

Elizabeth gave me a conspiratorial smile. "It'll be you next," she said. "Unless I'm wrong about those queasy feelings."

I caught my breath, stunned, and she laughed. "You didn't think about it? When was your last flux?"

"Angels of heaven," I said quietly. "Does everyone know but me?"

"Not at all," she assured me. "In fact, I think Rufus and I are the only two who thought so."

"I must get back to the ship," I said, without any notion of what I intended to do.

"I'll walk with you." Elizabeth rose from her chair. "But let me caution you before I go: you must be more careful around Jeremy. No one knows what his mission really is. Remember the people who followed us? We still don't know who they are. Are they agents or forces being directed by the court? Or by someone else? You absolutely must take care."

Then I thought of Ponce de Leon's journal, my father's log book, and my uncle's record of his Messenger activities. Better secure all of these out of Jeremy's reach, and Elizabeth would be the perfect one to do that.

"Will you take a few of my things with you?" I asked. "I need to leave them with someone I trust, which means either you or Rufus."

She agreed, and that left me with one last concern. "How can I slip past Jeremy? He must be back by now. What must he think has happened?"

As I spoke, Jack sauntered into the room. "Nah, 'e ain't back. After you left, he had a bit more rum – but you know how Tortuga is." He gave me a dazzling smile. "Sometimes the rum comes with a bit of somethin' extra in it. Anyway, he's sleepin' it off on the floor of the Bride." He handed me something; Jeremy's coat.

"You owe me, Brat. Normally, I'd have kept this, but I'm choosing t' help you instead." He rocked back on his heels.

I nodded. "Take on all the supplies you can, Jack. I think it's going to be a long voyage."

-0-

Elizabeth accompanied me back to the _Medusa_. As we boarded her, Hector was standing on the main deck, a tall, shadowy silhouette, but Elizabeth left me and made for her cabin without stopping. I stalked across the deck, brushing straight past Hector without a word. I let myself into the day room, and after a moment, Hector followed me.

We stared at each other, each trying to decide how angry the other was. Hector spoke first.

"Well . . . there be no doubt whose daughter ye be." He waited, but I made no reply.

"I'm glad ye came back," he said, tentatively. "I know it ain't in yer nature."

I nodded. I knew my own tendency to flee hurtful situations. Still watching each other, and moving like two hostages held at gunpoint, we slowly made our way to the table, and pulled out two chairs. We settled into them, face to face, with a good distance in between.

I looked at the floor, then took a deep breath. "I know what most London women would say: don't trouble myself. No husband keeps to his own wife . . ." Then I cleared my throat, but found I couldn't go on.

"But ye ain't 'most women'," Hector said. When I made no remark, he plunged ahead. "I know ye be better fitted fer court – that ye crave a proper home instead o' this . . ." He waved his arm, taking in everything around us.

"You're being absurd! It sounds to me like a perfect justification for your own inclination to stray from a woman you no longer love. Where did you get such a notion? Did you ask me if it were true?"

He started to frown. "Ask ye? When ye'd hardly spare a word fer me? I heard it from yer friend Norrington. Ye seemed t' have enough t' say to him!"

"And so, rather than ask me, you consulted your injured pride and leapt to the wrong conclusion."

He pounced on this. "Just as yer doin' with me! I had no designs on that bawd, I assure ye!"

I knew him better than that. I could accept that he had felt slighted by me. And I knew that I had caught him before he could consummate his faithlessness. But now he seemed bent on denying any involvement, and I wasn't having it.

I narrowed my eyes accusingly. "I suppose I'm unkind if I point out that she was waiting for you in our bed." It was physically painful to say my next words, but I had my evidence. "You never remove your hat except to sleep or make love. And yet there it was, on the table. How can you lie to me so?"

"All right," he said, suddenly impatient. "I'll give ye the truth of it. She said she wanted t' see the ship . . ."

I shook my head violently. "Don't," I said. "I can't bear to hear it-how _she_ did this and _you_ did that."

He thought for a moment, then tried to talk me round. "Ye know, if I truly meant t' be unfaithful, I swear ye'd never find out. 'Tis ye that comes first fer me, always."

"Stop talking about it! None of this is helping." My cheeks and eyes were growing warm as tears began to wet my eyes.

I gulped, and he came to me in one lunging step, taking my hands and kneeling in front of me so that our faces were level. "If ye won't hear me, if ye won't let me in, then how can I set things right again?"

"What do _words_ matter if I don't believe them?" I was sad and weary, with no heart for maintaining this fight. The longing for him was killing me. He watched me expectantly.

"You've lost my trust," I said. "Deeds, not words, matter to me. If you truly wish to amend matters, let us first have an armistice. Make good on your word. Accept Jeremy's proposal and see it through. After all is finished, we can turn to the matter of our marriage. But I make no promise in return. Do this without conditions, or don't do it at all."

"So that be the only way to make it up to ye?" he pressed me.

I bit my lip and nodded.

"Then so be it." He was still on one knee, reaching out to caress my hair. He pulled me forward and we kissed. The warmth of his full lips, the soft rasp of his whiskers on my face nearly undid me. I put one hand on his shoulder and took in every detail, feeling the familiar texture of his coat, the scent of the woolly fabric, the shape of his back, and the beloved stray hairs that caught under my hand.

I drew back after a moment. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I need . . . time." But, oh, how I wanted to rest my broken heart against the shoulder of the very man who had caused it! To let him comfort and soothe me as only he could.

I stood up. "Tomorrow, you should tell Jeremy he can use the _Medusa_," I said wearily. "He's not entitled to dig around for reasons." Our eyes met, and he nodded agreement.

"I'll see ye at breakfast, Mistress Bitter," he said softly.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 13 – Armistice** – Jeremy acquires two partners in his venture, whilst Nina and Barbossa work on rebuilding what was destroyed.


	13. Armistice

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Armistice**

Numb from the evening's confrontations, I locked myself in my cabin, moving as if my limbs were made of lead. Jeremy's coat fell from my hand, landing in a heap on the floor, and I sprawled on my berth, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing for it but to lie awake and hope the hours before dawn would pass quickly.

Everything had been settled, and nothing had been settled. Was that not the meaning of an armistice? We had agreed to hold off our fighting, to take up our parley later. Tomorrow, Hector would accept Jeremy's offer, and let him use the _Medusa_ for a mission so shrouded in secrecy that none of us knew its purpose. Once that was finished, who could predict the future of my marriage?

There was no question that my love for Hector would survive; I cherished him even as I numbered his faults. They made no difference to me. His heart had been corrupted long ago, amidst the privations and injustices of his youth. Yet within that brokenness, beneath those imperfections, a spark of goodness persisted. I understood the strengths and failings of the man I loved, and I embraced both aspects of his character.

But it was beyond my power to trust him, try though I might. Like a child standing uncertainly on the threshold, awaiting permission to enter a room, I held back from that last, decisive step. I knew I must wait for some sort of change, an indefinable sign from Hector, before our bond of trust could be restored.

My eye fell on the crumpled coat, and I thought of Jeremy. Resentment slowly took hold of me as I mused over his actions. He had assessed my relationship with Hector, weighed it, and used the dancing woman to set us against each other. All to gain control of the _Medusa_.

My expression tightened. It galled me to think that Jeremy would know that his gambit had succeeded. He would smile at us, feline and satisfied. I wished that we had arranged to deceive him, to conceal the reason Hector had changed his mind.

I continued to gaze at the coat. It had certainly piqued Jack's interest. He had insisted upon holding it whilst I sought out Hector. He had retrieved it after Jeremy passed out. And then he brought it to me.

I sat up, frowning. Uncommonly selfless of him, now I thought of it. I looked at the coat more closely.

One corner formed an odd peak, as though there were something flat and angular propping it up. I picked up the coat and gently flexed that area with my fingers. Something between the pocket and the lining made a soft crackling noise. I rubbed the velvet with the pads of my fingers, and heard it: the sound of fabric sliding across paper.

Turning it over, I found a longish thread hanging from the hem. Surely it hadn't always been like this? Such messy work! "Oh, Jack," I murmured. "With stitches like this you'll never make a seamstress – or a spy."

Carefully, I picked out the thread and extracted the heavy paper that Jack must have re-sewn into the coat's lining. The paper was less brittle than I would have thought, and I smoothed it out on my berth. There was a little symbol at the top of the page – just a straight line with a curl or two at each end, like a crude drawing of a sword. And below the odd-looking glyph was a map.

It was crudely but painstakingly sketched, with landmarks and settlements all noted and described. What had Jeremy told me at the tailor's shop? I concentrated, and could almost hear his voice. _Our destination is the lost city of Huesos Blanqueados._ I scanned the map, moving my hand across it to keep track of where I was searching.

All at once, a familiar name stood out.

I traced the inky letters with my finger. "Cuidad de Huesos Blanqueados". It had meant nothing to me when Jeremy said it, but now I translated the name to English. City of the Whitened Bones.

An abandoned city where the sands glittered with gold, he had said. But a nagging question remained, one that could not be answered with a map. What would make people abandon a city filled with gold?

-0-

Once my study of the map was concluded, I thought how I might stitch the coat back together. A needle from the surgery would work. As I stood up, I heard a commotion outside. The shuffle of more than one pair of heavy feet was followed by Rufus' voice. I came out of my cabin just in time to see Jeremy being carried to his berth by two seamen, under the direction of our ship's doctor.

Rufus met me with a grim smile. "I suspicion ee won't recall much o' the evenin'," he remarked, indicating Jeremy. "Jack did see t' that."

"I need something from the surgery," I told him. He was instantly alert.

"I'm in health," I added hastily. "I've only to sew up a tear in some clothes."

He regarded me sceptically. "At this hour?" he asked with a dry chuckle. "Yer more industrious than a precher's dattur, ain't ye? I'll walk with ye."

We made our way to the surgery, and I located a needle by the light of Rufus' lantern. As he waited, he tapped his gnarled fingers on the surgical table, and cast an eye over the room's many shelves and cabinets. "Ye'll be ship's doctor," he finally declared. "Like it or not."

I looked up quickly. "Only for one venture. After that, well . . ." I shrugged, hoping I looked as though I didn't care. "But Rufus, do hasten back as soon as you can. Hector needs you."

He shook his head. "Tedn't me ee needs, lass." Before I could reply, he added, "Ye'll be holdin' down yer victuals better in a short time."

I caught my breath for an instant, and my face flushed. "I must stay away from the court until afterwards," I blurted out, utterly relieved to confide in him. "They can't know I'm wed to a pirate. But I can show the child later and say I'm bringing up a distant relation."

"Ye think t' fool 'em wi' a tale like that?" he scoffed.

"Oh, they will all know," I said, "But no one will care. That's the way the court works - it's done all the time. Funny, isn't it? The great crime is to be caught with a swollen belly. Then they finish you."

"Ef ye need me or Jen t' help ye wi' getting' the baby born, 'twould be no trouble," he said. "Just say the word."

His kind offer gave me hope that I would be able to manage. The Bitter family, as close to extinct as possible, would have a descendant after all. In my mind's eye, the faint ghost of a smiling woman stirred. Was it my mother? Although my father would see his grandson, I dearly wished that Marianne and my uncle Harry were still alive. The only one who wouldn't care for it was Hector.

"You know," I told Rufus, "he said 'no brats' when we wed."

Rufus snorted. "Many a man says words ee soon regrets. Barbossa's no different. Wait 'til ee sees the cheeil in yer arms."

"Perhaps I should tell him now," I said doubtfully, not looking forward to it.

"Nay, let it keep," Rufus advised. "Barbossa 'uz talking to Pintel and Ragetti when we brought Norrington aboard, and ee's in a fair temper. Take yer rest, peaceable-like, an' tell 'im tomorrow if ye must."

As Rufus walked me back to my cabin, I could hear Hector shouting at the unfortunate Pintel and Ragetti in the day room. Something was afoot, but I had my own business to occupy me.

I sewed the map into Jeremy's coat and left it near his boots. Then I locked myself in my cabin and blew out the candle. Despite Rufus' encouragement, I expected to remain awake until dawn, which couldn't be more than two hours away.

After what seemed a long time, I was startled by the sound of some object being pushed briskly under my door, followed by the stealthy footsteps of someone retreating down the companionway. Getting up to look, I spied a folded square of paper on the floor. I lit a candle and picked up the paper, which was inscribed "Nina" in Hector's elaborate hand.

My exhausted spirits shrank back in fear. Dear heaven, why must there be more scenes tonight? Did Hector mean to berate me? Was it an effort to win me over by more of his artful flattery? I groaned, hoping it wasn't a poem.

I unfolded the paper and started to read. "Darling Missus," it began, and a warm glow instantly surrounded me.

But it wasn't a poem – it was better than any poem. He had sent me the one thing that could draw us together: a plan. Hector intended to conceal our fight, the dancing woman, and all our affectionate ties from Jeremy. I studied the part I was to play, smiling to think that once more, Hector and I were working together. Perhaps there was hope for us after all.

He had signed the letter, "Yr very humble and devot'd servnt-" and added his initials with more flourishes than a royal cypher. I was utterly charmed.

Moving closer to my candle, I reluctantly followed his first instruction. I tore the paper, bit by bit, and fed the strips into the flame. Once it was all consumed, I broke up the burnt pieces and scattered the ashes on the floor.

-0-

In the morning, I went to the day room, where I found Jeremy alone, Hector having contrived to be absent. No sooner had I sat down to breakfast than Jeremy announced that he had failed to reach an agreement with Barbossa.

I lowered my eyes, but allowed him to see the corner of my scornful smile. "So you haven't been able to persuade him?"

"We haven't spoken," he replied. "I thought perhaps he might be more eager to strike a bargain if you were to ask him. Last night . . ."

"Dear me!" I widened my eyes in amazement. "Last night I was fully occupied getting you back to the ship! And now I'm expected to finish the negotiations you began?" I put down my fork smartly. "I suppose the evening left you with a poor appetite for business today, though I hope you are recovered."

"Of course," he said, somewhat flustered. "Well, well, then I suppose we must find another ship."

Seeing that I had got him on his back foot, I pressed onward. "When offering my assistance, I never imagined you would not also be assisting yourself. I made an accord to bring this very ship to Havana. And now you say that because the same greedy old scoundrel didn't leap at your first offer, you are simply giving up? What makes you think another captain will be more obliging?"

"Perhaps he'll be short of funds," he shrugged.

"Ah! So we're looking for a less successful brigand!" I sighed. "And what sort of ship will he have? A smaller ship, which means a slower ship. And one that carries fewer guns. The _Medusa_ is the largest ship in the harbour. You might at least make a second attempt."

Jeremy seemed faintly amused. "No harm in that, I suppose. Apparently your motto is _Perseverance at all costs_."

I downed the last of my drink. "You have no idea."

"And I'm obliged to you for looking after my coat-" Just then, the door opened roughly and Hector entered the room.

He was carrying his log book, which was open, and instead of joining us, he went to his chart table and began working.

I turned back to Jeremy and signalled him to try his offer once more. He cleared his throat and said, "Captain? I regret the distraction, but may I have a word?"

Hector gave him a sharp look. "I've to sign on replacements fer two o' me crew an' me ship's doctor. I'm a little busy at the moment."

"I won't trespass on your hospitality an instant longer than necessary," Jeremy assured him. "I thought that, before I seek out another ship, perhaps you'd care to make a counter-offer regarding my proposal?"

Hector closed the log and turned to face us, resting one arm on the closed book. "One: I'm disinclined t' commit me ship to a venture in waters unknown to me. Two: the ship must be provisioned, meanin' I'd want money to pay fer supplies now, not later. And three: I need t' know there's some chart or bearings to get us there besides whatever ye be carryin' in yer head."

"I can pay for your provisions," Jeremy said, "But the bearings may be a problem, since I prefer to keep them to myself until needed." He thought for a moment, then indicated me. "If Mistress Bitter confirms that there is a map, will you take her word?"

Hector gave me a narrow look, then nodded grudgingly at Jeremy. "Aye. Now ye'll excuse me . . ." He turned back to his work.

I followed Jeremy back to his cabin, and sat quietly as he cut the map from his old coat. He smoothed it out on his berth, much as I had done the previous night, and pointed out the same destination, Cuidad de Huesos Blanqueados.

"Around about 1575 or so," he told me, "The conquistadors began to hear reports of a secret city on a remote island, once vast and full of gold, but later abandoned by its people. Bear in mind that all sorts of legends were circulated by the tribes in this area – tales of half-human monsters, monkey gods, and of course, the mythical Fountain of Youth."

The hair on the back of my neck was standing up, but I affected a polite disinterest.

"As far as is known," he went on, "No one ever found any such city." He paused a moment. "Until 1690, when a Spanish adventurer claimed to have located its ruins. His name is not important – he hanged himself after returning home. But not before he wrote an account of his travels, and drew this map, which has found its way into our possession. We have every reason to believe that the city does exist."

"By 'we'," I enquired gingerly, "I suppose you mean the Crown?"

He looked startled, then laughed. "Why, yes. Of course I meant the Crown."

I nodded. "I see. So, are we to claim this territory for King George?"

"Not at all. I am claiming an artifact of a certain kind – I, alone, will be responsible for that. But I can pay everyone involved quite handsomely in gold. As much as an armada could carry."

I peered at him. "Is there really that much?"

He smiled. "It is a very ancient city. They spent centuries amassing this gold. Try and imagine it . . ."

"Then I have a proposal," I said. "If the gold is of no account to you, then let us bring the _Black Pearl_ as well as the _Medusa_. Hear me out," I added as he began to object. "Firstly, even without an accord, Jack Sparrow may decide to follow you. He has a nose for treasure. It would be better to make an accord now, because you can get him to agree to terms in advance. Then the _Pearl_ can help defend us if we're attacked by some other rogues. Secondly, I can't help thinking of the _Berwick_. Perhaps you'll have better luck with two ships than with one?"

"Perfectly reasonable, my dear," he replied with a grin. "I'll follow your counsel." He seemed quite pleased that I was throwing myself into the venture with such enthusiasm.

We returned to the day room, where I made my report. Hector grunted his agreement, and quickly wrote some calculations. He handed the paper to Jeremy, who ran his eye down the list and nodded.

"I'll just see the goldsmith for the money," he told Hector. I hoped he wouldn't run into the dancing woman on his way to the goldsmith. It occurred to me that whatever she had been paid for, it did not include keeping silent.

Then Jeremy made his way out of the room, and I hastened to my cabin. I gathered everything I intended to leave with Elizabeth, and made my way to the dock, where she was waiting with Rufus. I gave her all of my books, my Messenger badge, and my wedding ring.

"And how are you getting on with Barbossa?" she asked, straight to the point.

I shrugged. "I'm doing the best I can. But just at the moment, I'm expecting to provide my own upkeep, and I've thought of a venture that might suit us both, if you're interested." I took a deep breath. "It's smuggling. The duties on everything from salt to brandy are double and quadruple what the cargo costs. I mean to invest in a ship, and take up what we Cornish call the Old Trade. And you're welcome to join if you like – just give it some thought?"

I could see that she found the idea quite appealing. It would certainly be faster than waiting for her Chancery suit and the Governor's estate to be settled. She gave a quick nod. "Thank you. We can discuss it upon your return, but I'm sure I'll be joining in."

We said our farewells, and I watched as Elizabeth and Rufus walked away. I made a mental note to ask Rufus if he might be interested in my venture as well, then I bounded across the _Pearl's_ gangway and made for the captain's quarters.

Jack was alone, save for Maroto, who had come to take his leave before disembarking. I noticed that Maroto had begun to look less like a cleric and more like a man of action. He had retained some of his soldier's attire from Havana, and was now armed with a sword.

I blinked. "Is that a broadsword?" I asked him. He looked embarrassed.

"I find it easier to manage, for some reason," he replied. "Perhaps it is my height." He still had the worn look about him that I had noticed earlier. Evidently the sea air hadn't quite restored his health. I turned to Jack.

"I suppose Pintel and Ragetti have signed on with you, right?" I asked. "Someone's in a temper over that – he's got to replace them both before we set sail. And you're invited, by the by. Same terms as before – you can fill the holds with gold."

"Well done, Brat! I take it you've seen the map, then?" Jack flashed a sparkling grin.

"Indeed I have. But I want to know why anyone would abandon a city of gold."

Jack wasn't bothered. "Ah, well, p'raps the rum was gone."

I glanced at Maroto. "Padre, have you ever heard of a place called Cuidad de Huesos Blanqueados?"

His eyes widened for an instant, then he recovered himself. "The legend, you mean? There was a story concerning a lost city, I believe."

"Perhaps not so lost," I replied.

"Perhaps not." He looked thoughtful, then turned to Jack. "I wish to join your crew."

Jack shook his head. "Sorry, mate. I've got two extra men as it is, savvy? But Barbossa's come up a bit short – perhaps he'll take you on, if you can put up with 'im."

In the end, I brought Maroto to Hector and let him plead his case. After several sidelong looks at me, Hector agreed, being still in a conciliatory humour and wishing to appease me. After Maroto left the room, Hector and I found ourselves face to face and undisturbed for the first time since our dispute.

Hector invited me to take a seat. "Ye still haven't told me what ye know of this Padre," he said.

I answered carefully. "Not a great deal. From what he's told me, his family had some serious point of dispute with the Spanish king. Beyond that I have no idea. I believe it's more important to discover what Jeremy's purpose is."

He thought this over. "And when ye find out? What then?"

"I won't keep it from you," I assured him. "But in the meantime, you mustn't thwart me. I am trying to gain his confidence."

He tightened his hand for a moment, almost making a fist, but he was in no position to set terms, and he knew it. "Norrington's gone t' find one more seadog t' fill the last place. And ye'll be takin' Rufus' duties as ship's doctor," he announced in a raspy growl. "No arguin', if ye please."

"As you wish." I made a little bow, adding wryly, "Pray that we all remain in health." There was no smile from Hector in return. Wondering if we would ever bridge the chasm between us, I left him at his work, intending to take inventory of the surgery.

As I crossed the deck, I saw that Jeremy had returned, and was talking with someone, presumably our new crew member. Jeremy spied me over the man's shoulder, and the man turned round, following Jeremy's gaze. I drew a sharp breath and pulled my hat down as I saw his face, and his bandaged hand. It was none other than Pike, the man whose hand Hector had stabbed at the Faithful Bride.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 14 – More Precious Than Gold –** The expedition begins, Maroto discovers the goal of Jeremy's mission, and Nina takes on a new patient.


	14. More Precious Than Gold

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

**More Precious Than Gold**

The shock of finding Pike on the _Medusa_ nearly stopped my heart. Keeping my hat pulled low over my ears, I turned away and frantically looked about for a place to hide. I spied a tall stack of crates and almost stumbled in my haste to slip behind them. Then, safe from observation, I began to breathe again as I considered my predicament.

We were short one man, and it was clear to me that Jeremy intended to fill that vacancy with Pike. In my mind's eye, I could see the various consequences of this, all of them unpleasant.

Although he didn't know our names, Pike would explain how his hand had been stabbed by some violent brigand bent on impressing his fancy woman. Unfortunately, the moment he laid eyes upon me or Hector, he would recognise us and pass the word to Jeremy.

And how Jeremy would love it! Relishing the prospect of a scandal, he would probe and pry endlessly, until at last he uncovered our clandestine marriage. After that, I would be in his power, to be used for spying and other unsavoury schemes hatched by whomever he served at court.

If I refused, he could spread the scandal amongst the courtiers. King George might ignore a distant piratical connection, but this would be too much. I would be dismissed from service, and the King would let the law do its work.

Fear and helplessness made knots in my stomach.

Whilst I stood paralysed, wondering what to do, the door to the great cabin flew open, and Hector appeared. He saw Pike at once and strode towards him, with Jack the monkey perched atop his shoulder.

I peeked out from behind the crates, holding my breath.

"What're ye doin' on me ship?" Hector demanded loudly.

Pike's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell!" He turned to Jeremy, waving his bandaged hand. "There's the bastard wot done this!"

I groaned. Nothing could stop Pike telling his story now.

"Next time 'twill be yer guts!" Hector declared. "Now take yer thievin' hand and get off me ship, ye cockroach!" The monkey screamed as his master took a step forward. Pike cowered back.

"Captain Barbossa! Please!" Jeremy stepped between them, rather bravely, since Hector looked ready to draw his pistol. "This man is an able seaman and I've offered him a berth on the _Medusa_," he said. "Now what is this about his hand?"

Hector glared at Pike as though he would burn a hole through him. "He was three sheets t' the wind and bent on a spree. He tried to take me lady's winnin's and I pinned his hand to the table."

"Ow was I to know she was yer lady?" Pike whined. My throat went dry. An intolerable number of details seemed to be emerging, and would eventually point to me.

Jeremy, trying to calm Hector's temper, glanced about for reinforcements and noticed me hovering behind the crates. Before I could draw back, he summoned me with an insistent wave.

There was to be no escape. I approached, my legs feeling as heavy as lead.

Pike, who had begun to tell his story, suddenly noticed me. His speech slowed and his voice trailed off. He stared, squinting as though trying to recall something.

I stared back at him blankly, as if at a total stranger, but desperate thoughts raced through my mind. Perhaps I could kill him before he identified me. Exactly how I would explain my murderous attack was another question. Still, I flexed my hand, ready to draw my scimitar.

Time seemed to pause. I stood motionless, muscles tensed, waiting for the light of recognition to dawn. Instead, Pike frowned, gave his head a puzzled shake, and looked away. I exhaled slowly, trying to conceal my amazement.

He didn't know me! My house of cards was still standing.

Before Pike could get another sentence out, Hector interrupted. "Shut yer gob! I'll not pay for the work o' two hands an' get the work o' one. And I don't let lyin', scabrous dogs spread their filth on me ship. So take yerself off, before I make yer belly match yer hand."

Jeremy seemed ready to object. With eyes downcast, I took one step closer to his side.

"Do you know what I would advise?" I said quietly. Jeremy clasped his hands behind him and leaned over slightly, to hear what I would say.

Softly, I delivered three succinct words of advice. "Find . . . another . . . deckhand."

He turned his head, darting a quick, surprised look at me, then gave an officious little cough. "Sorry, Pike," he said. "Captain Barbossa raises good points. We shall have to make other arrangements."

As soon as Pike and Jeremy were both out of earshot, I turned to Hector. "He didn't recognise me, thank God – but how is it that he knew you and not me?"

Hector gave a short laugh and indicated my boy's clothes. "'Tis the way ye were dressed. Ye looked different, an' he were drunk as a lord that night." He grinned. "But every cur that crosses me remembers it - if they still be drawin' breath." Jack chirped agreement.

Jeremy may have been discomfited by Pike's dismissal, but within the hour, Hector had found a substitute and signed him on. When I reported to the captain's quarters to meet our new deckhand, I nearly laughed out loud – it was none other than Digger, the pirate who had insisted he knew me from somewhere.

We shook hands, and he grinned smugly. "I ain't forgot ye, miss. Yer _Nina_, and we met in _Tortuga_." Hector looked slightly startled, but quickly recovered. Digger was hardly a worthy rival, being exceedingly squat and heavy, with a pronounced resemblance to Pintel. But he was very polite, almost obsequious, to Hector, and generally presented himself as an agreeable sort of shipmate.

The _Medusa_ and the _Pearl_ slipped their cables just after dark, and we were on our way to the mysterious lost city. I abstained from supper that night, and so found myself at the starboard railing, mesmerised by a quantity of jellyfish that swarmed alongside the ship. In the black water, their tentacles glowed with a soft, purplish light, and the only visible sign of each body was a cluster of luminescent green circles. I extracted a small bundle from my pocket, opened it, and began to eat the cool, refreshing grapes I had purchased in Tortuga. When they were all gone, I retired to my cabin for the night.

-o-

The next day, I remembered that I needed an inventory of my supplies, and I went down to the narrow surgery. As I worked, I kept a large surgical knife just by my hand – advice given me long ago by Rufus. In general, pirates turn to the ship's doctor only in dire situations, but occasionally one comes looking for something other than medical care. The work went briskly at first, but as time passed, thoughts of my troubles with Hector distracted me, and I fell to musing.

I wondered if my trust in him could ever be restored. Perhaps we would need a fresh beginning. I recalled our first meeting and tried to imagine what might have happened if circumstances had been different. What if there had been no cursed gold? What if Hector and I had never fought, if we had allowed those strong feelings to bind rather than divide us? I closed my eyes, transported by the idea of an easy, languorous surrender to Mr Barbossa, First Mate of the _Black Pearl_.

I was still lost in my dreams of what might have been, when I heard the surgery door open behind me. My eyes flew open and I spun about, knife in hand, to find Hector regarding me with some surprise. He was holding four small apothecary bottles.

"Ready t' go t' work, eh?" he observed, looking at the knife. "Rufus sent these over."

"Thank you for bringing them," I said awkwardly. His hands brushed against mine several times, as he gave me the bottles and made absolutely sure that I was holding them securely.

"Yer friend's borrowed me day room t' study his map in private, so I was at loose ends," he said, with a deprecating shrug.

He laid his hand on the doorknob as I turned and put the bottles away. The door squeaked, then closed quietly. I turned back, expecting to find him gone, but he was still there, watching me with a tentative air.

"Yes? Is there something else?" I didn't move, but my heart took a little skip towards him.

"I need t' see the doctor." He leaned back against the edge of the surgery table and I noticed that he had bolted the door.

"Oh? What ails you?" I stepped towards him, and felt my pulse throb. Why could I not maintain my detachment?

"I've a pain in me chest," he replied. "Here." He indicated his heart.

A blush began to colour my face and soften my gaze. I looked away. "I'm afraid there's nothing here to ease that."

"Nothin' at all?" He peered at me and, for an instant, there was a pleading look in his eyes. "I did what ye asked. What be makin' ye so unkind?"

"You would call _me_ unkind?" I said. "After what _you_ did?" I took another step towards him, and my resolve wavered. I cast languishing looks at the rise and fall of his chest, and felt the soft exhalation of his breath on my skin.

He took my hand and held it against his chest. "What would put things right?"

I shook my head. If only I knew the answer! I sensed that there was something indefinable – a word, a deed, a kiss (I closed my eyes). And when that sign manifested itself, all my doubts would be swept away.

"The thing I cannot understand," I said, "Is _why_. We made an accord on our wedding day. I've never known you to break one, so why did you break ours?"

He shrugged wearily. "Ye were gone fer months. When ye came back, I wondered if the reason be yer royal errand instead o' me. Ye might've had second thoughts. Regrets. Ye didn't care t' go searchin' for the Fountain o' Youth with me; that was plain enough." Then he gave me a quick, sharp glance and cleared his throat. "An' Norrington said once yer work were done, ye'd go back t' London fer good."

"You should have asked me!" I replied. I thought of how he had behaved towards me ever since Havana – pushing me away, too proud to ask if Jeremy's tale was true. Instead he had decided to spare himself the heartache, taking charge of his situation. Yes, that was how Hector did things.

I touched my finger to his chest where he had complained of pain. "I tried to warn you about Jeremy. He looks for a weakness in everyone - a doubt, a secret, an old wound. And when he finds it," I added, moving my finger in small circles, "He begins to dig. That's how he gets what he wants. And you believed him."

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied. "Between those two worlds – the pirates and the courtiers -why wouldn't ye prefer the pomp an' the glitter? Pirates don't live long, an' don't die abed. What does a pirate's life gain ye?"

"It gains me you," I replied. "I care not a louse how we live. A pirate's life? I'd follow you to the gates of Hell itself." I exhaled a deep sigh. "And now look at us . . ."

"Tell me what ye want," he urged me.

"I want us to trust each other again," I replied. "I want us to join forces as we used to. Jeremy is up to something – I can sense it - and we need to find out what it is. And after that"-I took a deep breath-"I want to explain something about the Fountain. Perhaps you'll understand better after that."

He began to smile. "Done, sweetheart! 'Twill be our own venture." He drew his fingers lightly along my jawline and we exchanged a tender, lingering kiss. I rested against him in perfect contentment, enfolded by his long, sinewy arms. "I mean t' change yer mind," he whispered in my ear. "Nothin's beyond mending."

I stroked his cheek with my hand. "When we need to talk privately, we should meet here," I said. "You've as much right as any to see the ship's doctor."

He gave me a sly, wolfish grin. "So there be somethin' here after all, to ease me pain."

"There might," I replied, a bit flustered. "In the meantime, if you think Jeremy is still in your day room, then perhaps I should interrupt and see if he'll tell me more about this mission." I sighed. "After all, we're supposed to be serving the same royal master."

-o-

Upon entering the great cabin, I found Jeremy studying his map. He invited me to look it over, and I stood staring at the rough lines and tiny letters for a long time. I couldn't overcome the feeling that I had seen it before. I thought of what Hector had said about Jeremy wanting something more precious than gold.

"Now that we're underway, can you not tell me anything of this artefact you're seeking? Am I to occupy myself only with the gold and contribute nothing to your mission?"

Jeremy beamed, the picture of a satisfied man who sees Fortune as his obedient servant. "Your initiative is most encouraging, my dear. I shall tell you more once we arrive, but for now, let us say that I am seeking the key to a door."

"Is that all?" I raised my brows. "I've hunted for many a key. What does it look like?"

He laughed. "Many would love to know that. But this is a most singular key, and we are not the only ones pursuing it." He paused, then added, "I see by your expression that you've encountered some of these others."

Indeed, I was rapidly putting together many strange events. The men watching Elizabeth's house after I visited her. The horseman who had chased us. The dark ship following the _Pearl_. Perhaps even . . . "The ship that took the _Berwick_!" I exclaimed.

"It's possible, of course," Jeremy shrugged as he folded the map. "By the by, I had no idea our Captain had a particular lady in Tortuga."

It was my turn to shrug. "I'm sure he has many, in many ports. Is that not the way with most pirates?"

He laughed. "No doubt you're right. For now, let us return the great cabin to him, whilst we take the air on deck. I trust you'll join me for a promenade?"

-o-

Jeremy made one final attempt to learn more about Pike's confrontation with Hector. That night at supper, he asked Hector to tell him about his gallant rescue of the gambling lady.

"Apologies, but much of it seems to have slipped me mind," Hector replied with an amiable laugh. "There be so much rum and pleasin' company in Tortuga, ye can't expect me t' recall everything."

Digger had been put in charge of serving supper, and he piped up. "I remembers playin' cards in Tortuga with Nina 'ere. That's where we met."

"Did you really?" asked Jeremy with a smile.

Digger was clearly encouraged by Jeremy's interest. "Aye! Might 'ave even been the same card room!"

"We played at whist, I remember," I said to him. "But I don't recall seeing the Captain there." I had been quietly breaking up my food and pushing it about on my plate, preoccupied with disguising my lack of appetite and wondering what Hector would do when he realised my condition.

"Perhaps Digger saw him," Jeremy suggested. "And the mysterious lady. What do you say, Digger?"

Digger laughed and shook his head. "Nah, an' I think I'd 'ave noticed 'im, with the monkey an' all."

Hector smiled, and Jeremy looked slightly disappointed, like a cat who discovers a long-watched mouse hole has been empty all along.

-o-

Late that night, I wandered out on deck as before, my pocket stuffed with grapes. Although I had barely touched my supper, I had developed a great craving for this particular fruit and a large quantity was stored in my cabin. As I stood looking at the stars, eating one grape after another and spitting the seeds off the side of our ship, I was joined by Maroto.

"May I offer you some grapes, Padre?" It was something of a relief to be in conversation with the only person on the _Medusa_ who had more secrets to keep than I did. He smiled, but seemed rather tired.

"You know," I went on, "I was surprised when you signed on for this voyage, but I'm very glad of your company." Taking a closer look in the moonlight, I frowned. There was almost a suggestion of gauntness about him.

"I hope this venture doesn't prove too much for you, Padre. Afterwards, I still mean to hunt for the Fountain and destroy it."

He turned his sad, dark eyes to me. "Then you do not know about Cuidad de Huesos Blanqueados?" I shook my head. "Señora, we are hunting for the Fountain at this very moment."

I put my hand on the railing, suddenly uncertain of my footing. When I found my voice, I managed to stammer, "I don't understand."

Maroto looked about to make sure no one could overhear us, then proceeded to explain. "Before it was abandoned, Cuidad de Huesos Blanqueados was known by another name – Cuidad Blanca. It was the city I told you of, where Ponce de Leon discovered the way to the Fountain, and also where he captured many of his victims."

"How do you know this?" I asked. "Why would it not still be called the White City?"

He spoke slowly, seeming to weigh his words. "In the time of Ponce de Leon, there were rumours of an ancient drawing in Cuidad Blanca that showed the way to the Fountain." He shook his head. "Not even the city's inhabitants knew if it truly existed. But my ancestor found it, and copied it." He paused. "And then the disappearances began."

I waited for him to continue, but he kept a troubled silence. "Do you mean the people he took as his captives?" I asked.

Maroto continued reluctantly. "No. It was only after he departed that the . . . the _activity_, began. Always at night."

He sighed. "First a few, and then more people began to vanish from their beds. In the morning, bones would be found on the sand. Locking windows, barring doors – nothing helped. The years passed, and when Ponce de Leon returned for more victims, only a few people remained. Most had fled, leaving even their gold, for fear it was infected with the terror. At last, no one was left, and the city was called the City of the Whitened Bones."

He stole a look at me, and murmured, "_Ibi cubavit lamia et invenit sibi requiem_."

I nodded, repeating faintly in English, "_There hath the night-demon lain down and found rest for herself._"

He sighed. "Yes. And somewhere in those ruins, if one can find it, is still that drawing." He nodded his head slightly, as if making up his mind. "That is what your friend Norrington wants, the purpose of his mission."

My blood felt like ice water. I could see it all now. Hector was right; Jeremy was after something far more precious than gold. _Let us say that I am seeking the key to a door_, he had told me.

I had made a terrible and costly mistake. _Don't be a fool, _Teague loved to say._ Always find out every detail before you set sail._ But I hadn't known the details of Jeremy's mission before I jumped in, taking husband and brother with me.

"Jack and Hector want to find the Fountain as well," I said, fighting the sick feeling in my stomach. "That's why I begged them to help me first – to keep them away from it!"

And now I had led them both straight into the very danger I was trying to avoid.

Maroto saw the anguish on my face. "Don't despair," he said. "There is an element of Fate about these things, señora. If your friends are not meant to find the Fountain, they won't – despite everything. But if it is their destiny, you could not have prevented it."

"Wait!" I cried. A sudden ray of hope had appeared. "Even if they find the Fountain, they don't know the ritual! The Fountain has no power without the chalices and the sacrifice, does it?"

Maroto lowered his head and said nothing.

"What else does it do?" I asked urgently. Then I remembered something else. "Maroto! Please - why do they call it the Garden of Darkened Souls?"

His gave a sigh that was almost a groan. Then, shaking his head, he turned and walked away from me.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 15 – The Lure of Green Apples** – Nina reaches a turning point and makes an important decision, as she and Barbossa work to repair their relationship.


	15. The Lure of Green Apples

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

**The Lure of Green Apples**

As I watched Maroto walk away, a single thought ran continuously through my mind: he was working alone, and always had been. I was foolish to have regarded him as a friend.

Unbeknownst to me, we had been getting closer to the Fountain all this time. My efforts to keep Hector and Jack safe had been of no more account than dandelion seeds, blown away with a single puff of air. But how could it have been otherwise, with Maroto holding back what he knew?

From the moment he had discovered our destination, he had known what Jeremy was doing. But he had said nothing to me. He had concealed the most fundamental fact – that within the city was a map showing the way to the Fountain. Instead he had signed up as part of our crew.

Only when it was too late for me to do anything had he revealed his secret - one secret, at any rate. The devil alone could say what else Maroto knew. A flush of annoyance warmed my neck, and my gaze fell upon a loose pulley. I felt a sudden longing to heave it violently overboard.

That such perfidy would provoke my temper was only natural. But my anger was swiftly replaced by a shocking sensation: I realised that I was utterly alone.

There was no one in whom I could confide, and I had reached the limits of what my own abilities could supply. I felt like a starfish, helpless on an alien shore, deserted by every creature that the ebb tide carried away. My spirits sank into my boots.

Perhaps I was destined to fail as a King's Messenger.

It had seemed so fitting, to honour my adored uncle by following in his footsteps. And it was the thing I felt best equipped to do with my life. But he had been a man of exceptional, even heroic virtue. Who was I, other than a poor judge of character?

My gloomy reflections were interrupted by loud voices calling the next watch. Startled, I saw that it was nearly morning. Hours must have passed as I stood musing over my failures. The sun had not quite risen, but its red rays fanned out from the east, lighting the undersides of the clouds and turning their edges a lurid pink.

Long, wispy plumes drifted along the horizon, while above me the clouds resembled an immense herd of tiny sheep, all racing across the sky in the same direction.

_Mares tails and mackerel scales_, the sailors say. And . . . I frowned. How did the other one go? _Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning._ The last word caused a strange sensation at the back of my neck.

I looked due west, where a hazy yellow moon hung tardily in the heavens, like the last guest at a ball, reluctant to depart. All in all, it was a confused, deceptive sky, one that matched my state of mind to perfection. I made a mental note that we would have rain later.

Then a singular cloud caught my eye.

One of the mare's tails stirred a memory. I frowned, closed my eyes, and then I recognised it. The cloud's strange, twisting shape was similar to the sign at the top of Jeremy's map. But now I remembered something more. I had seen that sign on another map – the one I had pulled from the old journal and hidden behind the captain's berth.

I groaned, and cursed my inability to recall what that map showed. Had it only been Cuidad Blanca, or was there more? My heart began to pound with fear that it might show the way to the Fountain. I had to retrieve it before Hector discovered it.

If he kept to his usual habits, Hector would emerge soon from his quarters and take the wheel. That would be the ideal time to enter the great cabin unobserved and steal the map. I waited expectantly.

And waited.

Hector did not appear.

After another hour or so, I saw three men bringing victuals to the great cabin, followed by Jeremy, who caught my eye and nodded. Forcing a smile in return, I resigned myself to sitting through breakfast and pretending to eat.

If both men departed the cabin after breakfast, I could get at the map.

-o-

Breakfast seemed to take forever. I managed to sip a bit of chocolate and take a few bites of toast, but the fresh-laid eggs and gammon of bacon were too much for me. Despite my diminished appetite, I became preoccupied with Hector's bowl of apples. Having exhausted my supply of grapes, I began to regard these juicy green orbs with an interest that I took pains to conceal.

But no one really noticed me. Hector was evidently conjuring up some scheme, judging from the inscrutable look in his eyes. And Jeremy, who seemed to be allotting more and more authority to himself, was occupied with provoking Hector.

As he finished his eggs, Jeremy glanced at me. "You've a smudge, dear girl," he remarked.

I tore my eyes away from the apples. "Sorry?"

"Just here. Allow me." Putting down his fork, he reached across the table and brushed my face. Evidently intending to annoy Hector, he smirked at our captain. "Too pretty a face for smudges. Don't you agree, Barbossa?"

As if he hadn't heard Jeremy, Hector broached a new topic. "D' ye find me chart table t' yer likin', Mr Norrington?" he enquired, in the tone he used for negotiations, smooth and obliging. My ears went up.

"It does very well," Jeremy replied. "Though all the back-and-forth with the map between here and my cabin gets a bit tiresome."

"Well, that does seem a pity, does it not?" Hector purred. Then he lounged in his chair, still with a cordial expression. "Here's what I'll do for ye: you bring yer map t' me quarters, and I'll give ye the great cabin until we reach our destination."

Waving expansively at the sleeping cabin, he continued. "There be a lock on that door. Ye can keep the map safe when yer not usin' it, and save the trouble o' fetchin' it back and forth each time." He smiled.

There was a pause while Jeremy hesitated. He must have sensed some ulterior motive, yet he could hardly refuse.

"What about Jack?" I burst out. Anything to keep Jeremy from moving into the room with my hidden map.

"Jack'll come with me, of course," Hector growled. The monkey chirped obediently as Hector glared at me.

"Oh, but, do you think-," I began, but Hector silenced me with a look.

"Well, if you're not too discommoded," Jeremy said at last. "Thank you, Captain. The smaller cabins do seem rather ill-suited for the study of maps."

I decided my best chance was at hand. Breakfast was ended, and both men rose from the table.

I fanned myself. "Oh, dear! I feel a bit faint – the rich chocolate, I think. Do go about your business gentlemen; I shall join you shortly." Hector grunted and turned away, followed by Jeremy. My shoulders relaxed as the door shut, leaving me alone at last.

I took a knife from the table and hastened into our berth. Working the blade between moulding and panelling, I managed to hook a corner of the map. I drew it out with some difficulty, but I was determined to keep it from ripping. Once I had it, I tucked the six-inch square under my shirt, and smoothed the crackling paper against my ribs. I fastened a few buttons on my waistcoat, and brought back the knife to the table.

The bowl of apples winked at me, their fresh, sharp aroma tantalising my nose.

I hesitated. Then I quickly stuffed them into my pockets.

-0-

There were a mere four steps between me and my cabin door when I came face to face with Hector. The deep shadows of the cramped passageway hid my face, or he would surely have read the guilty look in my eyes.

He halted and drew a bit to one side. Without my cargo of stolen apples and secret map, this would have allowed me to edge by. As matters stood, however, I got only part the way past him before being obliged to halt.

We faced each other in the darkness, our waistcoats almost touching. He loitered, without saying a word. Lowering my eyes to his chest, I thought, he is so close, so close. My heart's ease, my soul's companion, is within an inch of me. I became aware that he was slowly inclining his neck towards me, until his lips were quite near the crown of my head. In another moment I felt, or else imagined, a ghost of a kiss on my hair.

With a little gasp, I remembered the map under my shirt. The map he didn't know I possessed. I quickly reached past him and opened my cabin door.

He frowned, and I knew I had offended him. Then his eyes scanned my figure, from chest to hips. A ripple of panic ran over me. Had he noticed some indefinable change that revealed my condition?

But his mouth widened into a wry grin.

"Apologies, madam. Some of me apples seem t' have found their way into yer pockets." He held out one hand.

Feeling immensely relieved, I surrendered the stolen apples, which he dropped into his coat pockets. Then he reached for my waist, in order to slide his arm about me. His fingers nearly touched my shirt where I had hidden the map.

I quickly grasped his hand, smiling weakly. "I'm so very tired. I didn't sleep last night."

He straightened up to his full height and narrowed his eyes for a moment. Then he started off down the passageway with his long, uneven gait. "I wish ye pleasant dreams," he said over his shoulder. I would have gone after him – I should have gone after him. But he had his pride to keep him company, and I had my secrets.

-o-

So many matters demanded my attention, and I was in no fit state to deal with any of them. I stowed the map securely under the mattress, and crawled into my berth, resolving to use this time to refresh myself as far as possible with sleep.

When refitting the _Medusa_, Hector had partitioned her former ward-room and officers' mess into four new cabins, one of which I now occupied. All were newly panelled in teak and, though cosy, were clean and still redolent of freshly-sawn wood. However, despite each one having a porthole, they were rather warm and stuffy during the day. Added to this were the unaccustomed bangs, scrapes and occasional voices that issued from the neighbouring cabin, as the crew carried off Jeremy's personal effects, and brought in Hector's various requisites.

I dozed fitfully. Twice I dreamed of being in some candlelit room and hearing the murmur of voices discussing what I understood to be dire and urgent plans. In both dreams, I was always just on the point of catching their exact words when I would awaken, momentarily alarmed. I fell asleep a third time, only to dream of a ship sailing towards me, which frightened me very much, although I couldn't say why, or recall anything odd about the vessel.

At last I decided to give up the idea of sleep, and see what I could make of the mysterious map. I unfolded it and gazed once more at the strange symbol. There was nothing to indicate whether it was meant to show a sword, or rivers, or some tribal hieroglyph too ancient for deciphering. The map itself was the same as Jeremy's larger version, and in fact, was likely the original from which his had been copied.

My apprehension eased when I saw that it only showed Cuidad Blanca, and not the Fountain; however, there were other markings that I didn't recall seeing on Jeremy's map. These turned out to be incomplete, cryptic phrases: "under the offering table" was one, and something "dormir", so whatever it referred to was "sleeping". Jack was right, I thought; these things truly are just maddeningly unhelpful.

If Maroto hadn't played me false, I would have been tempted to show him the map and put my questions to him. I fidgeted with the paper for a few moments before deciding against it. I no longer trusted Maroto, and it suddenly struck me that he and Jeremy were not at all dissimilar. Both kept secret agendas. Both withheld information, trusting no one, but presenting the appearance of frankness and camaraderie.

As I compared the two of them, another comparison nagged at me. I could not avoid thinking how often I had served Hector in just the way Maroto and Jeremy had served me. I had withheld much that I knew, or presented it in a way that would mislead him. He had trusted me as I had trusted Maroto, but I was no better than those I condemned. Not for one moment had I taken Hector completely into my confidence. I recalled his plaintive insistence that he had done nothing to merit such treatment. Had my heart been made of stone? How could I have used him so?

My cheeks grew very warm as I considered my actions, and I felt a lump of remorse in my throat.

I put the map aside. Had I become an untrustworthy, habitual liar? No other conclusion was possible. Sitting cross-legged on my berth, I rested my chin in my hands and pressed my fingertips hard against the sides of my face. No wonder Hector had been easily convinced that I intended to leave him: how could he trust my word on anything?

But what if I had told Hector everything about Maroto and the Fountain, or Ponce de Leon's journal and the map? Who could say what he might have done? I had lied for his own good and the good of the mission.

I'd had an excellent reason for what I did.

And yet . . . that was exactly how Jeremy or Maroto would have defended their actions. Maybe that was what all liars told themselves.

I curled up on my side, both hands tucked near my chin, the picture of misery. Was I really that sort of person? Did I want to be like Maroto or Jeremy, forever alone, forever scheming? That was where my lies would lead - away from the one who meant everything to me, and down a solitary road from which I would never return.

_He makes you happy. Don't throw that away_, Jack had said. But I wasn't throwing it away – I was only keeping Hector in the dark to protect him, wasn't I? Or was I?

No, the person I was truly protecting was myself. The lump in my throat grew larger. I couldn't bear any harm coming to him. And I couldn't bear discovering that I meant less to him than his own wilful ambitions. Closing my eyes, I pictured a wooden chest, locked and hidden, with the beating heart of Tia Dalma's lover within. For the first time, I understood and pitied Davy Jones.

But we love whom we love, I thought. There could be no secrets between Hector and me. No one can escape the perils of attachment, and it was a mistake to separate ourselves from those we love and belong to. If I wanted a strong and lasting love, there would have to be an end to my lying.

-o-

After supper that night, I retired to my cabin in an agony of indecision. Where would I find the courage to tell Hector all that I knew?

I hadn't been able to eat much, but now I was hungry, and had no grapes left. I was considering whether a walk on deck would prove beneficial when I heard a soft knock.

I pulled open the door to find Hector standing outside. In his hand was a handkerchief filled with the green apples I had stolen, which he had neatly sliced for me. He thrust the handkerchief through the doorway. "There be more in me cabin," he said when he saw my delighted smile.

I raised my eyes to meet his warm, blue-eyed gaze, and we stood staring for a moment. Then all at once I had him by his coat and was dragging him inside, shutting the door and locking it.

Turning to face him, I suddenly felt quite shy and abashed. His tall, commanding figure seemed to fill up the little cabin and tower over me. "I-I don't know quite how to begin," I stammered.

He eyed me with an expression of bemused delight, much as I would imagine a wolf would eye a plump hen that, having dropped unexpectedly from the sky, now lay obligingly at his feet. "I'd recommend takin' yer weapons off first," he suggested with a sly grin.

"But I have" - I took a deep breath - "something to show you."

His grin widened. "I know ye do. Now, get yer kit off, sweet, so's we can renew our affections."

I was fast losing my nerve, and so I answered by pulling the map from its hiding place. "I promised you no more secrets," I blurted, adding, "If we're to trust each other once more, this is where it must begin." I swallowed nervously.

Hector's eyes went from the map to my face, then back to the map. I handed it to him. "Open it," I urged him. "Then let me explain."

We sat facing each other on the berth, with the map spread between us, as I explained about the journal, and told him everything I had learned from Maroto. Hector listened carefully, staring at the map all the while.

When I had finished, he looked up at me from under his heavy eyelids. "Why d' ye believe Maroto?" he asked.

I was completely taken aback; the question had never occurred to me. "I didn't, at first," I admitted. "But his tale fits so much of what is in the journal, I thought . . ."

"He could be a Spanish agent," Hector pointed out. "Tryin' to take the same prize. He might be tryin' to fright ye with stories. There be no way to tell where he learned those things. He might've read the journal himself, before it was given t' ye."

"I will concede that I should have been more sceptical," I replied. "But what if he is telling the truth?"

"'Tis plain that we need to find out more," he grudgingly admitted. "But I'd counsel ye t' be cautious. He likely has his own designs on whatever's buried in that place."

"Be wary, Hector," I said softly. "Cuidad Blanca is a bad place – I feel it in my bones. I beg that you'll act wisely in this. If Maroto is telling the truth about the map, it could be very dangerous, and Jeremy is exactly the wrong person to possess it. You and I must prevent him from getting his hands on it."

Hector snorted. "And how d' ye propose we do that, not knowin' what it be or where it lies?"

"Neither does Jeremy," I said. "And I haven't given up questioning Maroto. But there's one thing more." I held his hands, feeling his rough, warm palms as I begged one favour.

"Please say nothing of any of this to Jack," I implored. "I would sooner die myself than see him become a ghoul under the power of some cursed Fountain."

"Ye needn't fret about that," he replied. "I'll say naught to anyone. This venture be no one's business but ours." Then he rested his hand on the side of my neck and caressed my jaw with his thumb. "Now, what about showin' me somethin' else?"

Moment later we were in each other's arms, our clothes and weapons strewn about the floor. His kisses were incendiary, and I groaned with pleasure as his hands greedily fondled my breasts. "Plump and perfect," he rasped, nuzzling my ear. "Ye must be eatin' well." My eyes flew open; but I did not intend to tell this particular secret just yet.

"What if?" I whispered to him. "What if there had been no complications when we first met? No misunderstandings, no cursed gold. Only you and me." Our eyes met, bright with love and desire.

"I'll show ye what if," he answered. And he gave me every satisfaction I could imagine, caressing me until my back tensed, arching with passion under his touch. I threw my arms around him with all my strength, and we ravished each other like animals, consumed by a wordless, primal craving.

And then all was joy. There was no cabin, no ship, no world – only Hector. I clung to him afterwards, breathing in his musky scent, my limbs so relaxed that I was only half aware of their existence. Kisses followed kisses, tenderness followed need.

Gradually, I grew bold enough to venture one question. "May I ask why you told me 'no brats' when we married?" I murmured softly.

His manner did not change; he continued tracing affectionate patterns on my skin, and after a moment, he answered with a kiss. "No."

I did not press the matter, knowing that his kiss was a promise. One day I would have the answer.

As we lay in our embrace, the rainstorm I had expected began to sweep over the _Medusa_. He held me close. "Sleep, sweetheart," he said. "I'll stay with ye for a while yet."

"Don't let Jeremy find us," I mumbled.

In the moments before I fell into sleep, I thought drowsily of what I had done. I had shared everything I knew about the Fountain, without negotiating an accord, without imposing conditions, and without lying. Hector was free to do as he liked.

_Hector,_ I pleaded silently, _don't disappoint me. Don't break my heart._

* * *

**Next: Chapter 16 – Into That Silent Sea** – The mystery of the _Berwick_ deepens, and Barbossa takes an interest in discovering more about Ponce de Leon.


	16. Into That Silent Sea

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**Into That Silent Sea**

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow follow'd free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

\- _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_

From the _Medusa's_ quarterdeck, I stared out at the sea, my hands braced upon the stern railing. Something was wrong, had been wrong for several days in fact. There was a warning in the very air itself – a presence or an absence of some sort; but for the life of me, I could not discover what it was. I looked up at the vivid, cloudless sky, half expecting to see monstrous eyes looking back at me.

A week had passed since the night I unburdened my conscience to Hector, and we were only a day out from Cuidad Blanca. And yet we were not presently under sail. Instead, under the blazing heat of a tropical sun, the _Pearl_ and the _Medusa_ had thrown out their sea anchors and hove to, in order to investigate a most astonishing sight.

I was half aware of an animated conversation taking place on the main deck amongst Jack, Hector, and Jeremy. Theirs were the only voices – no one else on either ship had spoken a word for what seemed hours. Every man of them was gazing in wary silence at the _Berwick_, which was lying by peacefully off our starboard bow, apparently abandoned.

Was not that the obvious cause of my keyed up nerves? I sighed and drummed my fingers on the railing. No, it was not the _Berwick_; something unknown, with sharp, shadowy angles, flittered at the edge of my perception and made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The sounds of talking had tapered off. There was a cough at my elbow and I found Jack leaning on the railing next to me. "All sorted, darlin'," he said. "The four of us'll board her and 'ave a look about."

I lifted an eyebrow. "All four of us?"

He grinned. "Think I'd leave you here, Brat? And I'm not leaving _him_" – he pointed to Hector – "to steal me ship once I'm gone. And I'm not leavin' _him"_ – pointing to Jeremy – "until he takes me to the gold." He sighed. "And they won't leave _me_-`

"Yes, yes," I said. "It never changes – no one trusts anyone. As usual."

He grinned approvingly and shrugged. "Pirates, love."

I followed him with my eyes as he sauntered away, and over his shoulder I glimpsed the _Berwick_ \- a beautiful ship with sleek, elegant lines. She was only a short distance away, all her canvas furled, not a trace of damage. But there wasn't a soul on deck, and she hadn't answered when we hailed her with a salute from our guns.

After some subdued talk, our crews had categorically refused to board her, even for a short time.

I descended the stairs to the main deck, and was immediately accosted by Hector, intent on instructing me. "We've t' keep an eye on both of 'em at all times," he muttered, frowning. "I'll not have either one of 'em makin' mischief. I'll watch Norrington, and ye'll watch yer brother."

I nodded and whispered, "Aye, Captain." He turned and made his way back to the gangway where Jack was waiting.

Jeremy had positioned himself a little apart from all this, and now he beckoned me to approach.

"You and I must keep watch over our two pirate captains," he began.

I waved my hand to silence him and stifled an urge to laugh. It had the makings of pure farce – everyone watching everyone else. "I shall watch Captain Sparrow, if you'll watch Captain Barbossa," I said.

"Very well." He gave me a quick, official sort of nod and moved away.

When he had gone, I recalled Stuffy's tale, and particularly his insistence that the _Berwick_ had been chased and made to disappear by a caravel. I could only think of one captain who might still be sailing such an ancient ship. I spied Maroto and approached him.

"You aren't joining us, Padre?"

He looked away from me, as if the question embarrassed him. "None of them trust the others to be left in charge, and so they have asked me to keep order in their absence." He excused himself before I could say another word, and it struck me that he wanted to avoid any discussion of the _Berwick_.

I was first to descend the ladder to the longboat, refusing any helping hand. There were no noticeable changes in my appearance yet, but I was convinced that anyone who so much as took me by the elbow would instantly guess my condition. Jack took the seat opposite mine, and gave me an appraising sort of look. I turned away and gazed at the sea.

In the Caribbean, the colour of the water depends in large part on whether sand or grass lies beneath it. Sand turns the water to a light, radiant turquoise, while large, scattered areas of Prussian blue indicate grass beds.

But the water on which we sailed that day was so dark as to be nearly black, and nothing below the surface was visible, no matter how I squinted at the bright white reflections of sunlight that glittered across it. We were evidently over some vast underwater basin of untold depth, for a band of brilliant aquamarine ran all the way round the horizon, marking the shallower seas that encircled us. The entire sea bore an uncanny resemblance to the eye on a peacock's tail feather.

And still I could not pin down whatever was setting my nerves on edge.

As we drew closer to the _Berwick_, a chill travelled down my back in spite of the heat, and I rubbed my arms briskly to counter the goose bumps that suddenly covered my skin. The _Berwick_ had a Jacob's ladder which we caught and unrolled with our boathook. In a few minutes, our party had boarded the ship and I got my first look at the _Berwick_.

She was immaculate. Scrubbed and polished to perfection, as though she had just come from the shipwright's yard. I sniffed the air, but there was no smell of gunpowder, tobacco, spoilt victuals, or death. All her lines were stowed with mathematical precision, and her longboats were neatly lashed to the deck.

The clean, spotless deck.

I frowned. One would think there would be traces of . . . I looked at the sky. Not a gull in sight. All at once, the thing that had nagged at me came into focus. I hadn't heard the cry of seabirds for days. And that wasn't all - the jellyfish had ceased to follow us at night. Neither dolphins nor devilfish had accompanied us, leaping joyfully beside our ships. There were no sea creatures of any sort. We had come to a part of the ocean where we were the only living beings; where, but for the sigh of the breeze and the occasional lapping of the water, all was silence.

Jeremy and Hector drew their weapons and, leaving Jack and me on deck, went below to see if anyone could be found.

Jack studied the ocean. "Not much point tryin' to set her anchor," he said, nodding his chin towards the water. "It's too deep. And she won't drift much, with seas this flat."

He didn't suggest tying her to one of our ships; we both knew that would stir up a hornet's nest of fear and panic among the superstitious pirates. I waited, but Jack was still taking stock of the Berwick. At last he turned to me.

"Rum sort of ship, innit, Brat? The smuggler's delight. Not that she carries more cargo than most; in fact, she don't." He waved towards her bow with a sly smile. "It's her speed. Look at 'er bow. She's built for outrunnin' other ships, savvy?"

"Well, we know Jeremy isn't interested in how much gold he can bring back," I said.

Jack's eyes flashed knowingly. "Aye, but here's what I ask meself: what _is_ he interested in? And who's he plannin' to outrun?"

Although I had told Hector everything, I had no intention of bringing Jack into my confidence. I shrugged. "No idea, really."

I followed Jack into the captain's quarters, and caught my breath. The room had been thrown into great disorder – ransacked, in fact. Papers, bedsheets and clothes lay strewn about the floor. The mattress had been slashed. Sea chests were open. Drawers had been pulled out, emptied and cast aside. After a moment, I realised what must have happened; there was nothing supernatural about it. Once they had disposed of Jeremy, his mutinous crew must have been searching for the rumoured treasure map.

Having more interest in gold than paper, Jack had been pushing the mess aside with the toe of his boot. Suddenly he stooped and retrieved something shiny from under a crumpled shirt.

With a triumphant smile, he held up a small jasper and gold signet ring, with something black wound about the band. "Not hair, is it?" he asked, curling his upper lip.

My heart gave a single, great thump, and I took the ring with unsteady fingers. "No, it seems to be thread." I stared at the small trinket and felt my world shift on its axis. For a moment I was fifteen once more. It was snowing and I was attending my first ball, feeling frightened and awkward. But a beautiful young man with dark, melting eyes was introducing himself and offering his hand, his perfect young hand. On it had been this ring.

Jack knew as well as I did whose ring it was. He patted my shoulder, and I realised that my eyes were welling with tears.

I wiped my face. "Sometimes," I said. "Where we're very young, we don't see how much . . ."

Jack gave my arm a squeeze. "We've all got to go sometime, mouse," he said.

I nodded, clearing my throat, and continued to gaze at James' ring. The thread, of course, had been added later, making it look almost like a mourning ring. Unaccountably, I turned it over so I could see the underside of its face. Jack saw me grow pale, and snatched back the ring to look for himself.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. The inside of the ring bore a small engraving of a skull, surrounded by a date – the date poor James had been killed.

We looked at each other and Jack narrowed his eyes. "Odd he'd have it, innit?" he said. "I mean, if he despised his brother as much as you say." He pocketed the ring, adding, "Let him think the crew took it."

Just then we heard the sound of boots and Hector's loud voice outside the door. I quickly took a snuffbox from the floor, and invented a cough to accompany my teary eyes. "Not half clever, are you," Jack said, shaking his head, just as the door opened to admit Jeremy and Hector.

Jeremy observed the snuffbox with a light laugh. "Giving you a bit of bother, is it?" he asked. I nodded and handed him the box. Hector looked sharply out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing.

"There's not a trace of anyone, living or dead," said Jeremy, looking about him. "Although I see they amused themselves in here. We found supper set out in the mess. Food cold, naturally. Everything neat as a pin, and the ship's provisions scarcely touched."

Jack had begun to rock on his heels during this speech, and now he took up the matter that most concerned him. "How's the supply of rum?"

Hector's mouth tightened into a disapproving smile. "Jack, Jack . . . I prefer t' keep me eyes on what matters most – the gold in Cuidad Blanca."

"In other words, you've no idea! I knew I should've looked meself."He swayed towards the door, hands waving. "I'll be quick, then."

Hector scowled and started after him, leaving me with Jeremy, who had begun collecting papers from the floor and putting them in an empty despatch box. "You needn't follow them," he said, not looking up. "There's nothing they can turn to ill use." He sighed and his gaze strayed over the floor.

I knelt down. "Let me help you," I said, and started picking up documents.

We gathered his papers in silence. Once the floor was cleared and the box filled, Jeremy looked round him again. "Have you got everything?" I asked.

He seemed perplexed, and I was certain he was trying to guess what had become of the ring. "I suppose I do," he said at last, and withdrew a key from his waistcoat.

He tried to lock the box, but the key turned uselessly where the mutineers had damaged the mechanism. "Broken, of course," he commented, looking away from me. An awkward pause followed.

Trying to fill the silence, I said, "These old boxes are so familiar to me. My father always had one or more to hand."

Without turning, he said, "Perhaps you have wished for the power to bring him back?"

The question struck me as odd and I was in doubt how to answer. He might be seeking nothing more than conversation with a trusted colleague to counter the solitary nature of his work. I stole a look at his profile, and saw that he awaited my answer with keen interest.

What did he expect me to say? I cleared my throat. "Oh, many times, of course."

I sensed that he was about to say something more, but the door banged open, and Jack swaggered in with four bottles of rum in his arms, followed by Hector, who began speaking at once.

"Gents," - he eyed me - "and lady. 'Tis time we return to our ships."

"But what shall we tell everyone?" I asked him. "That the fate of this crew is unknown, yet we're making for the same lost city? If you think they're frightened now-"

"If ye'd do me the courtesy, madam," he replied, giving me a steely look. "I was about to tell ye." Then he raised his chin in that defiant posture I knew so well.

"There be a sad but simple reason fer the crew a-vanishin'," he proclaimed. "Seein' the calm waters, they were inclined to take a relaxin' swim, an' all jumped off the ship. But lackin' a captain" – he bowed towards Jeremy –"there be no one t' remind 'em that the Jacob's ladder were still stowed away. When they'd refreshed themselves, they couldn't get back aboard, an' sadly, they all be drownded." He raised his eyes heavenward, then glanced at my sour expression.

"It ain't uncommon," he snapped, dropping his pious attitude. "P'raps sharks ate 'em! Ye'd be surprised . . ."

I nodded. "Then I say let's be off. The _Berwick _gives me the horrors."

-o-

By afternoon, we had discovered a fair breeze and were sailing once more.

I had not been in the surgery more than ten minutes when Hector arrived. I told him of James' ring and Jeremy's odd question, but Hector brushed it off.

"So he keeps a memento of his brother – so what?" he said with a shrug. "We've other concerns." He looked me in the eye, engaging my full attention. "We need to know more about this map, m' girl. We need t' find it."

Seeing my surprise, he quickly added, "So's we can destroy it before Norrington puts his hand on it."

He wanted me to elicit details from Maroto regarding the map's appearance and where it might be hidden, regardless of all of my fears and forebodings.

"What of the _Berwick_?" I demanded. "What of the caravel Stuffy saw?"

"What of it?" he answered crossly. "The _Berwick_ were abandoned! And a drunken scallywag of a lookout dreamed of a fancy ship! Naught to do with us."

I twisted my hands together. "Hector-" But it was hopeless. He was set on getting his hands on the map, and I could only hope that when he did, he wouldn't be led into some foolish act. The map must be destroyed.

He saw my distress and coaxed me towards him. "Don't fret, little bird. There be many a mystery out on the wide ocean, an' the answers won't be known 'til the last trump sounds. Trust me - I'd tell ye if I reckoned aught was amiss."

I rested my arms across his shoulders and resolved to rely upon him. After all, who was I to trust, if not Hector?

He gave me a final squeeze before departing. "Now, I'll find Maroto an' send him t' ye."

However, when Maroto arrived, he proved rather unhelpful at first, and my questions appeared to exasperate him.

"_¿Por qué lo llaman un mapa?_"he exclaimed more than once. "_Te dije que era un dibujo!_"

I had no taste for being clever with words, and I summoned all my patience. "Yes, I know that you called it a drawing and not a map," I said, clipping my words. "But a drawing that shows the way to something is, generally speaking, a map. Can we keep this discussion to English, please?"

"As you like." He gave a heavy sigh. "I do not know what sort of object it is. It was something my ancestor was able to copy. Perhaps an inscription in stone or bronze; no one knows." He sat looking at his hands. "But it is still there, and he protects it, just as he protects the Fountain."

"Is that what happened to the _Berwick_?"

"Possibly. What did you see?"

I told him. Then I told him Stuffy's tale. There was a long pause, and he finally replied, "Ah."

My suspicions were confirmed. "So Stuffy did see a caravel!" Recalling the _Flying Dutchman_, I added, "What happened to the men? Did they join Ponce de Leon's crew?"

Maroto laughed nervously. "No, señora. He doesn't need them. He has someone already."

Ponce de Leon had a crew of . . . _one_?

"But there must have been more to start with," I said when I managed to gather my wits, "What became of them?"

"When Cuidad Blanca was abandoned, they turned on each other; now only one remains. But the _Santiago_ still sails, and takes victims when there is need for another sacrifice."

He gave me a long look, and appeared to be waiting for me to ask one particular question. I made a guess at what it might be. "How does he sail a ship if he has no crew?"

His expression relaxed. That was evidently the question he had wanted me to ask. "With a magical object," he said. "A magical object that does all the work of a crew, setting the sails, turning the wheel, coiling the lines – whatever is needed. All he must do is focus the power of his mind."

I sat there stupidly, unable to take in his words. He must have thought I doubted him, for he offered up the only proof he could – the _Berwick_.

"You said you found the _Berwick_ in perfect order," he reminded me gently. "How do you explain the . . . the precision?"

I couldn't. The fact was that the ship had been not merely tidy, nor even abnormally tidy. It had been inhumanly tidy. No mortal hands could have stowed those lines so precisely. But if Maroto was right, then his quest was the dream of a madman. I gazed at him steadily.

"If your ancestor is so powerful," I said, "May I ask how you expect to destroy the Fountain, or even get near it?"

"I cannot destroy the Fountain yet. I must first stop him."

I heaved a weary sigh. "Stop him? Can you even find him?"

He looked down at his hands and smiled. A secret smile. "If the map, as you call it, is disturbed, I think you'll find he is not far."

His words turned my blood to ice.

-o-

When I met Hector that night in the surgery, I had nothing useful to report as far as the map's appearance or location; however, I did have something important to tell him.

"This venture is far more perilous than I had thought," I said. "It seems the map is somehow guarded by Ponce de Leon – and it was he who attacked the _Berwick_!"

Hector answered with a short laugh. "That Spaniard and his yarns! He means to make ye stand off so's he can take the map fer himself. No battle was fought on the _Berwick_ \- where be the dead from either ship?"

"It wasn't the sort of battle you think," I replied. "Ponce de Leon acted alone – he has no crew, save for one man."

"Ye can't sail a ship without a crew," he retorted. "Not even Davy Jones could do that."

"But Ponce de Leon can," I insisted. "Maroto said there was something aboard the _Santiago_, a magical object that sails the ship, and has other powers besides."

"A likely tale," he said scornfully. But he stood pondering for a short time with eyes half closed, and I would have given a great deal to be able to peer inside that nimble mind of his. He seemed determined to disregard any obstacle or danger that might stand between him and the map, and his unshakeable resolve was beginning to make me uneasy. Would he be tempted to seize the map instead of destroying it? Was he tempted already?

He must have noticed my uncertain air, for he sat down on the only chair in the surgery, and took my hand, drawing me towards him and seating me upon his lap. He rested his chin on my head and rocked me slightly, keeping his own counsel on whatever thoughts occupied him.

Nestled drowsily against his chest, I puzzled over all the people pursuing us, from Ponce de Leon to the rider in England, and perhaps others of whom I knew nothing. In this unsettled state, I dozed off and dreamed briefly of a very large pirate ship. There was a bearded man with black hair swimming around it, and I understood him to be a fierce and triumphant enemy. This rattled my nerves sharply, and I awoke.

"Bad dreams," I told Hector, with a forced smile.

"Be easy, lass," he murmured. "That be Maroto's nonsense, fillin' yer head." He gave me an affectionate kiss. "'Tis late, and I be needed at the wheel, else I'd see ye back t' yer cabin."

We went our separate ways – he to the helm, and I to my berth. As I crossed the main deck, I noticed Maroto at the larboard railing, looking out to sea. I caught my breath and stopped, aware of my pulse quickening.

Had I actually not noticed how thin and weary he had become, or was there something uncanny about his appearance? The moonlight dusted his hair with silver, and he had the angular, stiffened shoulders of an older man. I stared, unable to take in what I saw. He made as if to turn towards me, and I quickly slipped away, before he could catch me gawping at him.

Once settled in my bed, I made a concentrated effort not to think on what I had just seen, assuring myself that moonlight made strange creatures of us all. But this proved a weak argument. Recollections of Maroto in daylight sprang to mind, and I recalled the alarming changes in his appearance – the slow wasting away, the greyness and pallor of his hair and face. I pulled the bedclothes up to my eyes as fear washed over me. I was surrounded by forces both ancient and terrible, their slow advance encircling our ships, drawing us in. But what could I do?

For all I knew, some titanic, unthinkable creature could be swimming silently below the _Medusa_ at this very moment.

"Angels on high, I'll never get to sleep at this rate!" I shivered as I sat up to light a candle. I needed answers and, at that moment, an idea came to me. It might not solve the mystery in its entirety, but it would almost certainly help, as long as I wasn't caught at it.

I needed to look at the papers in Jeremy's despatch box, and the sooner the better.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 17 - The City of Whitened Bones** \- The pirates reach the lost city, and Jeremy begins his hunt for the map.


	17. The City of Whitened Bones

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**The City of Whitened Bones**

After another day of sailing, we came to Cuidad Blanca and anchored during the night. The next morning, I went on deck, eager to see the fabled City of Whitened Bones. Shading my eyes with one hand, I surveyed the landscape before me. It was not what I had expected.

To begin with, it was utterly flat. No majestic trees, no mountains, no dramatic waterfalls relieved its monotony. An endless stretch of white sand reflected the sun's glare and made my eyes water. Beyond it lay nothing but a scrubby forest of poison-green vegetation. There were no ruins: the city must have been razed to the ground.

Then I spied the round top of a single, low hill. I could not guess its distance from the beach, but it seized my attention at once. I frowned, unable to look away. What was so fascinating? And why did I feel a chill in my blood, despite the heat of the day?

"Mistress Bitter!" Jeremy's voice broke in on my musings. I turned towards the captain's quarters, lowering my hand and rubbing the back of it, where the sun was already beginning to burn my skin.

When I entered the great cabin, Jeremy, Jack, and Hector were all standing round the table, looking as grave as the Board of Admiralty. The table was covered with Jeremy's maps, crew assignments and lists of sites which were to be dug up.

"We are ready to go ashore," said Jeremy with a tight, confident smile, "and begin excavating the gold." His eyes slid from one restless captain to the other. "In an orderly fashion, gentlemen."

"Oh, naturally," Hector purred. He and Jack smiled obligingly. Neither man was quite convincing.

Jeremy turned his attention to me. "But you must understand, Miss Bitter; I cannot have Maroto observing my actions. He may yet prove to be a Spanish saboteur, for all I know."

My spine stiffened. "And what are you proposing? To lock him in the brig like a criminal?"

"No, my dear," he replied with a quiet chuckle. "However, it will be your task to remain here and keep an eye on him."

This put me in excellent spirits; I could not have conceived a better way to search Jeremy's papers than to be left to my own devices aboard the _Medusa,_ whilst everyone else was occupied digging up gold on that bleak and unforgiving shore.

When we emerged from the great cabin, our boats were already being lowered, and the men were climbing aboard and taking up their oars. I approached Hector, intending to wish him every good fortune, but I was distracted by Jack the Monkey's odd behaviour. He sat frozen upon his master's shoulder, craning his neck to stare fixedly at Cuidad Blanca. Not even the tip of his tail was moving.

The pit of my stomach suddenly felt hollow. Hector was soon to set foot on those very sands. I hung back and tugged at his coat sleeve until he inclined his ear towards me. "Do you still keep it with you?" I whispered.

He glanced at me quickly, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smile as he straightened up. With a quick, subtle movement of his hand, he indicated a chain about his neck. I nodded. "Good."

On that chain hung the small, golden Basilikon – a prize that had nearly cost both of us our lives. It was a talisman that protected the wearer from cold steel, shooting and stabbing, and I had given it to Hector on our wedding day, charging him to wear it always. It gave me some measure of relief to know he had it with him.

As we approached the gangway, the monkey leapt off Hector's shoulder with a loud shriek, and landed in my arms. He curled up like a hedgehog, tucking his head down as he began to tremble. Surprised, I tried to hand him back, but he clung to me with tiny, pitiful whimpers that pierced my heart.

Unsure of what to do, I cradled the furry little ball, rocking him as I have seen wild adult monkeys do with frightened offspring. He burrowed into the crook of my elbow and his small fingers clutched at my arm. Jack did not generally seek me out, but something had made him feel threatened, and he had turned to me with innocent trust. I folded my arms over the frightened monkey.

"Give him t' me," Hector said, putting his hand on Jack.

Jack screamed and wrapped his tail about my wrist. "Leave him be. I'll look after him," I said.

Hector ignored me, and his tone became more overbearing. "None o' yer nonsense, Jack – yer comin' ashore with me!"

Out of nowhere, a surge of fierce protectiveness rose in my breast, and I glared at Hector. Though my heart was thumping in my throat, and I thought myself ridiculous, I wouldn't yield. "He's _not_ going ashore!" I declared in a loud voice.

Barbossa's eyes widened at my outburst, but this was no place for an unseemly argument. He snorted and began to move away, but then turned back with a sharp, curious look. I tensed, suddenly feeling as though there was a large sign over my head announcing my impending motherhood. But the moment passed, and Hector joined the other men at the gangway.

I thanked my stars there had been no time to question me. I would tell him my news as soon as possible, truly I would. Just as soon as I knew I could trust him completely. Just as soon as . . . as the moment was right.

Lingering at the railing, I watched the crews pull for shore and hardened my resolve. I told myself not to worry about Hector – he could take care of himself – but I could not suppress a creeping sense of unease.

Maroto joined me, and we watched until the boats went ashore and the pirates spread out to begin their work. Then he extended his hand to pet Jack, but the monkey jumped from my arms, and ran up the mainmast.

"He fears this place," I said.

I didn't wish to say so, but Jack was becoming as wary of Maroto as he was of Cuidad Blanca. The Spaniard continued to show unusual signs of aging, and was the only person on our ship to be so changed. But his health would have to wait on more urgent business.

"Padre," I said, "there is something important I must do in the great cabin, and I need you to act as my lookout. I mustn't be disturbed." My new-found distrust of him led me to add a warning. "I beg you to consider that the success of your own mission may depend on what I am about to do, and govern yourself accordingly."

Maroto gave me a sharp look, but then his face relaxed into a smile. "Of course." He pulled a small book from his pocket. "I shall sit outside the door, praying the Liturgy of the Hours. In Latin. That should discourage anyone from approaching," he added with a laugh.

-o-

I picked the lock on Jeremy's sleeping quarters and brought his map and dispatch case to the chart table. As I looked over the documents, I received my first shock: all except two were written in code.

"Judas devil rot their guts!" I whispered to the squares and squiggles. There was no time for this.

I recalled how Jeremy had talked of this venture – "we knew", "we have reason to believe" – and how flustered he looked when I asked if "we" meant the Crown.

"Why, yes. Of course I meant the Crown," was his answer. As if he had slipped, somehow.

What was he up to? Did this secret writing belong to the Messenger service? There was no one I could ask, and Captain Harry's cipher books were far away in London. "Stupid Nina," I muttered. Why hadn't I brought them?

One paper not in code was a letter from Lord Hervey, and the first thing I learnt from it was that Lord Hervey was not long for this world:

_I fear I am past recovery and all regimens save __one__ are palliatives, not remedies. I beg you to make haste with your business, not only for __our__friends'__ sake, but also for mine, else you shall find me fit for nothing but to attract flies when you return._

The "one" regimen might be a drink from the Fountain. But who were "our friends"? Would that be the Crown? The government? Neither one?

The other paper marked the sites of nearby mission houses. I compared it to my map, which showed no missions, but had other notes: "under the offering table" and "sleeping". Perhaps a mission house had held the "offering table"?

_No,_ said my instincts, guiding me. Not a mission house. Wrong track.

There was something else peculiar about my map. It had a little circle with no label, almost like an afterthought. But having seen Cuidad Blanca, I knew it marked the ugly little hill.

My shoulders slumped. Not much to go on. I put away all the papers and left the day room.

Maroto was seated just outside the door. He looked up from his prayers, gave an imperceptible nod, then slowly raised his eyes to the quarterdeck. I followed his gaze and was unpleasantly startled.

"Digger!" I shouted. "Are you not needed on shore?" How long had he been leaning on the quarterdeck railing, pretending not to spy?

"Bless ye, no, miss," he grinned. "Mr Norrington left me 'ere in case ye needed help wiv 'im." He nodded at Maroto.

A likely story. "Well, I don't. Thank you, Digger. But you could try and get Jack down from the rigging, if you've a mind."

He shook his head, still grinning, and idled his way back to the wheel.

I looked towards the shore and the hill beckoned. If the circle on my map had indeed showed its location, it was close enough to walk the distance and explore whatever was there. A rash impulse overtook me: I would go to there now and satisfy my curiosity.

I turned to Maroto. "We're going ashore."

His eyes widened at my sudden decision. "What? But your orders-"

"I have no orders other than to assist Mr Norrington," I said. "He is not my superior and I may still use the discretion and common sense God gave me, feeble though it may be."

I strode to one of the few remaining longboats, determined that nothing should stand in my way. "You take that davit and I'll work this one."

It wasn't pretty, but we did manage to lower the boat and board her. Maroto insisted upon rowing for the both of us, and I decided that the best lesson would be to let him discover how much work it was.

As we neared the shore, I held up my hand. "Stop rowing for a moment," I said. "Just listen. Do you hear any birds calling? Do you see any fish?"

He lowered his head and looked doubtful.

"Padre," I said, "there are no animals here. None at all. What do you make of that?"

He tried to laugh, but the question seemed to make him uncomfortable. "It is the heat, señora. I'm sure they are only hiding from the heat."

I narrowed my eyes, but said nothing. Something had frightened Hector's normally bold pet, and it wasn't the heat.

-o-

Jeremy confronted me at once. "Were my orders not clear, Mistress Bitter?"

I turned to Maroto. "I require a moment with Mr Norrington, Padre. Please remain with the boat, if you would."

Maroto nodded, and I drew Jeremy aside. "I fear you are labouring under a misapprehension, sir," I said. "I was told to assist you. You were never given direct authority over me. Feel free to consult my warrant – you'll find it silent on all matters, save the original prisoner transfer. You may rely upon me to keep Augustin Maroto out of your hair, but I intend to assist you by having my own look round this place."

Jeremy had been surveying the beach as I spoke, which was thick with pirates, digging, shouting at each other, filling baskets and crates, and gradually loading the longboats. But now he faced me with an intent, challenging look. "Do you know, I think I could order any of these ruffians to see you back to the _Medusa_ at once," he said.

I responded to his penetrating stare in kind. "Shall we try your theory?" I said. "Shall we see what happens when you ask my friends to lay hands on me? I only wish for pleasant relations with you, but I will not be coerced in this manner. It insults both my commission and my person."

As he listened, sly amusement crept into his expression. "Ah, my dear!" he said. "You do not disappoint. Very well." And with that, he stepped aside, and made a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting me to proceed with my plan.

Maroto and I crossed the hard-packed sand, through the heat that radiated from its smooth surface. By the time we reached the trees, we were both perspiring heavily. I turned for one last look at the beach, still puzzling over the deadness of sea and sky. Here and there, smooth white objects, rather like half-buried sea shells, glinted in the sun. "What do you suppose those things are?" I asked Maroto in a hushed voice.

He looked at the beach, then at me. "You know what they are," he said. "I have told you."

Indeed he had. They had given the city its name: _Huesos Blanqueados_, the whitened bones. I wondered how many there were.

We made our way towards the hill, struggling through the dense underbrush as the voices of the pirates grew fainter behind us. The silence of the forest became oppressive. There was no trail, and our progress was slow and laborious. After an hour or so, I stopped and wiped my dripping face with the hem of my shirt. We were both tired and panting with the heat, but I thought I might be able to get on at a quicker pace without Maroto.

"Wait for me here," I said. "Don't let anyone pass. I'm just going to have a quick look at the hill. I won't be long."

He was too weary to argue, and I left him leaning against a small _lignum vitae_ tree. I went on, stepping over roots and fallen trunks, and pushing through more vines and thorn bushes. Their branches left countless scratches on my face and arms, which would require thorough cleaning later. I hoped that rashes and heatstroke were the worst things I had to fear. At least the absence of animals made the risk of a snake bite almost nil.

At last, after fighting my way through a tangled mass of giant heliconias, I stepped into a small, weedy clearing. The foot of the hill was perhaps thirty feet away. I sat down on a limestone rock to rest.

Although the hill rose away from the jungle, it was still dotted with fern and understory trees. I would have to climb to the top of it if I wanted to see more, and my strength was ebbing. Now that it was at hand, the hill was just a hill; neither fear nor fascination remained. Around me lay small pieces of limestone, some with square corners.

I pulled up one or two stones with my hands, and found that they were pieces of broken stelae, carved stone markers that are sometimes found near ancient structures. The bits of limestone were finely carved with flowing curves, the work of skilled craftsmen. The sort who could engrave a map in stone.

I was elated at first – perhaps I was holding the very artefact we sought – but I soon realised that there weren't nearly enough fragments to make a whole. If this were the map, it was all but pulverised. I began to circle back and forth, around the base of the hill, looking for more traces of man.

In a very short time, I came upon what looked like a partly collapsed entrance to a cave or barrow of some sort, and near it, the weedy, overgrown remnants of a few crooked stone steps. The steps might have led me to the top of the hill, but the afternoon light told me there wouldn't be time to explore my discoveries. I retraced my steps, looking for the point where I had entered the glade.

Then I stopped, transfixed by the sight of the first animals I had encountered here.

A flock of perhaps twenty graceful, pure white birds were feeding in a clearing. They were similar to ibises, but more than twice as tall. How had I missed them before? Their lovely curved beaks were flame-coloured, and they clucked as they ruffled their snowy feathers.

Enchanted, I edged forward, wary of frightening the creatures.

One by one, the birds stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at me. Their eyes had the colour and shape typical of most birds, but the way they stared was most un-birdlike. They were, unquestionably, evaluating me with a cold, inhuman intelligence I did not understand, but which struck fear into me. But if they weren't birds, what could they be?

My gaze fell upon their slender, elegant beaks. What sort of worms were they eating - those long, thin fleshy strips that dripped red? I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle a scream.

Under their feet lay the corpse of a man in ragged clothes, partially consumed and crawling with ants. The sight, the blood, and the peculiar smell made my stomach heave.

One bird took a step towards me.

I bolted from the clearing and ran through the jungle towards what I hoped was the shore. When I came to the spot where Maroto was waiting, he caught me by my arms. "There are birds here," I gasped. "But they aren't like birds – the way they _look_ at you – and they had, they were eating-"

"No, no, no. Please, señora," he said, holding me by my elbow and hushing me. "Listen to me." He stared into my eyes, and I tried to fix my attention on his words. "There are no animals here. Do you understand? You were right." He waited, but I made no reply. "There are no animals here," he repeated.

I gazed at him, uncomprehending. "Then what did I see?"

He hesitated. "Nothing. A hallucination perhaps. Caused by the heat."

I frowned and pulled my arm away. "Very well," I said. "If that's how you choose to deal with me." I glared at him. "You make an abominable liar, Padre."

He swallowed, but said nothing. I turned on my heel and set out for the beach, with Maroto following close behind me. Neither of us spoke another word the entire way back.

Jeremy and Hector were talking together when I emerged from the jungle, and I joined them. "We'll be dining on the _Pearl_ this evening," said Jeremy, "at Captain Sparrow's invitation."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Unless you mean to debate me over that, as well," he said drily.

"I don't." What possible reason would Jack have for inviting us? I pictured the birds' gory meal. The last thing I wanted now was a hearty supper – or to have to explain my reasons.

"Good." He smiled. "I expect all the walking sharpened your appetite."

-o-

We were rowed over to the _Pearl_ that evening, under a canopy of stars in a rich, lapis-coloured sky. I was feeling much calmer, and Jack the monkey had settled on my shoulder, much to Hector's annoyance. As soon as we boarded the ship, however, he jumped from my shoulder straight up into the rigging and scrambled out of sight.

At table, Jeremy talked of his day, which had brought him only disappointment. "Mind you," he told us, "I've a few places yet to explore."

"And if it don't turn up," said Jack, "when might we be cuttin' our cables and returnin' to, ah, better travelled waters?" He spoke in a cheerful, bantering tone, but his eyes watched Jeremy rather closely.

"Anxious to get back to pirating, are you?" Jeremy said. "A ship full of gold only goes so far, I see."

Jack leaned forward. "Provisions, mate. As in, _victuals_. I can't eat gold, now, can I? I intend to be underway while I still have enough t' feed me crew. If I let the _Pearl's_ provisions run out, what d' ye think they'll do, after they kill me an' roast me on a spit, eh?"

My fork clattered to my plate, and Jack regarded me with surprise. "Just a figure of speech, love."

Jeremy gave him a steely look. "Patience, Captain Sparrow. I hope you won't deprive me of your company just yet. Tomorrow I shall finish searching the mission house sites. After that, we will all set sail."

"Perhaps you've only to dig deeper holes," I suggested, hoping he would not decide to search in the jungle. "When my father was a Messenger, he collected a few curiosities in his travels near Shiraz. He said one must know the site well, and dig down quite far."

Jeremy laughed. "Shiraz was part of an ancient civilization. This place is merely a Carib settlement – simple dwellings, ancestor worship, nature gods, and so on."

I looked at Hector out of the corner of my eye. He was much quieter than usual, and feigning a lack of interest, but I saw that he was listening closely to every word.

"What were they like, these nature gods?" I said. "They sound quite diverting."

"I won't spoil your supper with gruesome tales," Jeremy replied. "The Caribs were cannibals, you know. Their deities were said to look like freakish animals and strange beings, and to run about the woods doing good or evil as they liked."

This information sent a little jolt of alarm through my veins, but I made an effort to appear bored. "Tales to fright naughty children, I see."

"Indeed," said Jeremy. He raised his tankard to drink, and looked at me over its rim. "But just in case, I wouldn't venture too far inland, my dear – the way you did today." He took a long swig, and the conversation returned to more trivial subjects.

I toyed with the food on my plate, unable to shut out the image of those white birds with their strange eyes and appalling feast. I wanted no more to do with this deadly place, and I hoped Jeremy would give up his search after tomorrow. A strong intuition told me the map wasn't near a mission house. It was in a more ancient place — one that was holier to the Carib, and far more dangerous.

-o-

After supper, I tried to coax Jack the monkey down from the rigging. "Ye spoilt him; now ye can catch him," Hector announced, as he began to climb down to the longboat.

"Never mind, love," said my brother, drawing his pistol. "I'll shoot him down for you."

"That's enough out of the both of you!" I said. "I'll bring the monkey to you shortly, Captain Barbossa. Alive," I added, glaring at Jack.

As soon as Hector and Jeremy had departed, Jack turned to me. "It's a hell of a job to get you alone these days. I want a word with you."

"Is that why you asked us all to supper?"

"Why else? The less I see of Norrington and your dearly beloved, the happier I am and the longer the rum lasts." He drew me back into his quarters, away from the ears of his crew. "Brat, I've a feeling there's mischief afoot."

I chewed my lip, trying to guess. Had he, too, seen the birds? "Oh? Why do you say that?" I asked.

But it wasn't a vision of outlandish birds that troubled him. "You heard Jeremy," he said. "He don't want the _Pearl_ to sail without his say-so. We're in range of the _Medusa's_ guns right now. An' what I think is, what if he actually does blame pirates – specifically, me – for 'is brother's death? What if he wants revenge – perhaps leavin' me marooned here, or worse? So, once the _Pearl's_ hold is full, Jack'll be off, thank ye, love. Just givin' you the word. You'll be alright, will you?"

Relief washed over me. He hadn't seen the things I had. He didn't know what the artefact was. "I'll be fine, Jack. No worries, dear." I smiled.

He looked as if he didn't quite believe me. "Just…try not to do anything stupid," he said finally.

-o-

"Vultures be what ye saw," Hector insisted. "Naught but vultures, likely strippin' a weasel's carcass, an' the heat made ye-"

"Made me what? Mad?" I snapped. "If you mean to talk me round, you're going about it the wrong way!"

I had returned from the _Pearl_ without capturing Hector's pet, which no doubt annoyed him. But he seemed set on dismissing everything I had seen – the terrifying birds, the bits of carved stone and the steps going up the hill. I had gone straight to his berth and spent almost an hour recounting every moment of my adventure, to no avail. Why was he being so obstinate?

I crossed my arms and scowled at him. "Perhaps my time at Tia Dalma's was wasted. Perhaps I learnt nothing from her. But I tell you, if there was an old temple or holy place near that hill, then that's where the map is." I paused. "Or, was. I think I found parts of it, and they're no bigger than those apples." I nodded towards the apples next to his berth.

Hector looked thoughtful, then asked slowly, "We be in agreement to keep this from Norrington an' from Jack?"

"Yes, my heart – that's exactly what I wish. It's best that Jeremy give up his search. But-"

He darted a quick look at me. "But ye made an accord with Maroto t' find the map an' destroy it."

I nodded. "Yes, so that no one can use it find the Fountain."

He began to stroke my arm. "Tell me, sweet - did ye ever think he knows more than he's tellin'? Perhaps ye might get round the sacrifice, an' still drink o' the Fountain."

I stopped his hand and held it fast. "He can't be lying, Hector. It's in the old journals." This sort of talk alarmed me. Was he foolish enough to set his eye on such a dangerous prize?

He saw the dismay in my eyes, and comforted me with a sweet smile, as he drew me into his arms. "So ye said, so ye said. Well, then! The map must be destroyed an' that be the end of it."

He began caressing me and disordering my clothes. "Since we ain't able t' live forever, we must use the time we have." He buried his face against my chest, and kissed me, as the weight of his lips and the rasp of his beard stirred a primal craving in the very depths of my being.

As I warmed to his touch and the pleasures of our bed, I warned, "Have a care that Jeremy doesn't catch us out."

He twined his fingers in my hair, and whispered, "He's abed every night now, drunk as his brother ever was. There be naught t' fear from him." Then we shared such fevered kisses that I thought I would die of love. I gave myself to the man who owned my heart and, for a few hours, put aside the ominous feelings that were casting their lengthening shadows across my spirit.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 18 – A Change in the Weather** – The ships are filled with gold, and Jeremy realises that he may never find the object he seeks. It seems as though the venture must draw to a close. But you can never trust a pirate.


	18. A Change in the Weather

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 18 **

**A Change in the Weather**

"'E don't seem inclined t' be caught," Ragetti said. We were both peering up at the _Pearl's_ topgallant yard, where Jack the monkey perched, staring down at us. He had eluded Ragetti's best efforts, and I couldn't see that I would fare any better. Jack was being a bloody nuisance. However, what with Hector's orders to catch him, and my brother's offer to shoot him, I really had no choice.

"Thank you, Ragetti." I surveyed the rigging and rallied my dwindling patience. "I'll just go up-again-and see if I can coax him."

I pulled off my boots and climbed up to the crosstrees. With one hand on the rigging, I slowly extended my other arm towards Hector's pet, murmuring reassurance.

Jack edged away.

My temper snapped. "Devil freeze your guts," I hissed, and made a quick lunge at him. He scampered off, and I nearly fell. I gasped, recovered my balance, and looked down. The deck seemed a mile below my feet.

Jack regarded me with bright eyes from the far end of the yard. The prospect of breaking my neck loomed before me, followed by an image of my widowed husband being consoled in his grief by the dancing woman in Tortuga. My efforts to recapture Jack were getting me nowhere, so instead, I decided to try and wait him out. Sitting on the crosstrees, my arms wrapped tightly about the mast, I gazed at Cuidad Blanca.

The shore was bustling with activity and shouts as our lads repeatedly loaded the boats with treasure and ferried it to our ships. I could make out Hector and my brother, moving here and there as they both issued orders. Occasionally, Hector would make a quick, angry gesture at Jack, signalling some dispute between them, but as long as no weapons were drawn I judged that matters were proceeding smoothly.

Jeremy was working with a small group of men at some distance from the others. Even from afar he looked anxious as they wielded their shovels, and I knew, just as surely as if I could see through the sands, that his efforts would be for naught.

It was a sad state of affairs. I had looked forward to helping with his mission before I had guessed its purpose, but now I wanted him to fail. We had to get away from Cuidad Blanca before he realised he was digging in the wrong place.

My eyes turned inexorably towards that green hill, the place that might have been dedicated to the Carib deities. I thought of the birds and felt the pit of my stomach drop. Vultures, Hector had insisted last night. Nothing out of the ordinary. And with that, he had seemed to dismiss the topic. But Hector never stopped working things out, even in his dreams, as I soon discovered.

When I had awakened in the morning, he was already lying on his side, watching me with a smile. "Good mornin', sweet missus," he said, taking my hand and kissing my fingers. "I've a proposal for ye."

I brushed the sleep from my eyes and nestled against him. "Regarding?"

"All yer present difficulties," he replied grandly, folding his arms about me. "Beginnin' with that hill. Ye must not return to it. If ye do, 'twill only rouse Norrington's suspicious nature."

"I know he isn't blind to my movements," I said. "But I've promised to help Maroto."

"Ah! But there be no reason fer haste," he replied. "Let Norrington finish his business an' go back empty-handed. Once we be rid of him, we can return when we please, find the map, an' destroy it." He brushed a few stray hairs back from my face and smiled sweetly. "If that still be yer wish," he added.

Hector's plan tempted me mightily. The birds had struck me with horror. I loathed the prospect of going anywhere near that hill. If I could delay for a while, perhaps I could avoid it altogether. And yet, something felt wrong.

"What of Maroto?" I asked. "He's bound to be unhappy."

"Serves him right," Hector growled, "fer lying to ye from the start. And ye didn't specify _when_ ye'd help him, did ye?"

This reasoning, coupled with my aversion to Cuidad Blanca, had served to win me over.

And now, as I stared at the blighted little hill from the _Pearl's_ mast, I felt again the immense relief of letting Hector take charge. He was so strong, so unflinching. He knew the best course of action, and would not turn aside merely to spare Maroto's feelings. I could not have asked for a stauncher ally, and I rejoiced that I had trusted him so completely.

The sound of monkey chattering broke in upon my daydreams. I turned just in time to see Jack leap across to the upper shroud of the main mast. "I am not climbing another mast for you," I muttered. I returned to the deck and went back to the _Medusa_ without him.

Knowing it was cowardly, I still managed to avoid Maroto until the boats were returning from their final trip. Then he joined me at the rail, watching the last of our treasure being brought aboard. When Jeremy cleared the gangway, I called out to him, "No luck?"

He shook his head and approached. "A good first effort, I think. But clearly requiring more study. I shall report my findings, and leave it at that. Success may elude us for some time, I fear."

Hector was frowning as he joined us, all business, his mouth pulled down at the corners. "We sail at first watch," he snapped. He nodded upwards, indicating the sky. On the horizon, a layer of lead-grey clouds was slowly, almost imperceptibly, thickening.

We would have to be well out at sea before the storm rolled in. Even a flat, sandy shore can wreck a ship fairly efficiently in the right sort of weather. But first watch was almost eight hours away. Why would Hector wait?

I raised a questioning eyebrow.

"First watch, but no earlier," Jeremy chimed in firmly, and I realised that the order to delay had come from him, not Hector, who offered no response. That seemed strange. Why would Hector go along so tamely, unless it suited his own ends?

I watched as the two men made their way to the captain's quarters, with Digger at their heels.

Maroto turned to me. "_Pero_, you and I cannot leave," he said. His agitation and disappointment were palpable. "We have not found the map. You promised your help!"

"What am I to do?" I hedged, knowing I was dashing his hopes. "Time's run out. A storm is coming. We're not going ashore."

"You mustn't fear the birds," he insisted. "That's what is truly stopping you."

His words struck home, and made me angry at myself. I set my face like stone. "_Otro día, _perhaps,but not today, Padre. Sorry."

I walked quickly away, letting him hope another chance would come. But I had made up my mind: nothing would send me back to that hill, now or ever.

-o-

Claiming he needed to sleep before we set sail, Hector retired directly after supper that evening, leaving Jeremy and me to play at cards. I had been staking one trifling bit of gold after another, and allowing Jeremy to win almost every hand. I didn't wish him to guess that Hector's lady card-sharper in Tortuga had been me.

After some time, Jeremy stifled a yawn. "It's late," he said. "Do you want to continue?" He poured himself another tot of rum.

Two hours of losing endless hands of French ruff was as much as I could bear. I laid down my cards. "No. I am well and truly beat." I managed a smile as he scooped up his winnings.

"Winner takes all," he observed with a wink.

Leaving Jeremy to his rum, I returned to my cabin, quietly slipping past Hector's door. Once in bed, I sent my thoughts in search of pleasant memories that would induce sleep, but somehow they kept returning to the mysterious hill with uncanny persistence. If I pictured exotic flowers, I wondered if there were any near the hill. If I thought of my fondest childhood rambles, the Cornish coast became the sandy shore of Cuidad Blanca, and I knew I would turn inland and see the hill. The hairs on the back of my neck began to rise at the thought that I could not escape its presence.

I willed myself to relax. Perhaps if I simply allowed my thoughts to unfold, I could settle my apprehensions about the hill and get some sleep. Very well. What about this idea of a temple on the hill? If a temple had ever stood on its crest, there couldn't be much left; I was certain that I would have seen some trace of it from the _Pearl's _mast. So much for that idea.

I turned on my side and realised I was drumming my fingers against my knee as another theory took shape. Temple or no, the Carib could have carried out rituals there. If they worshipped nature gods, as Jeremy had suggested, why not pray to them in the open? Nearer to the sky?

Once I considered this possibility, it made more and more sense. If I had only gone to the top of the hill, I might have found more relics; perhaps even the map itself, graven on a stone pillar.

And everything would have been perfect, if 'perfect' included me as the main course for a flock of large, carnivorous birds.

Then Maroto's odd words came back to me: _there are no birds_. What the devil had he meant by that?

I became increasingly distracted by these troublesome notions. I could not let them lie. Lost in thought, I had been hearing but not listening to the faint noises next door, but now came a single thump, just loud enough to startle me. Then it began again. What could Hector be doing? Something small seemed to be rolling across the floor each time the angle of the ship changed. I listened intently. It sounded very like-I frowned-like an apple!

I was up in an instant, and knocked softly on his door. There was no answer, and I didn't hear his familiar snoring. Fearing that he was ill or worse, I opened the door just a crack to check on him. A single apple rolled past, propelled by the motion of the ship. Hector's berth was still made up from the morning.

He had never gone to bed. In fact, he had deliberately lied about it-to everyone.

The empty cabin seemed to stare back at me. I shut the door and tried to use my head. He must have had secret business. Something he had to do tonight. Why could it not wait until tomorrow? I drew my breath in sharply-because we would be under sail!

His business was in Cuidad Blanca.

I gasped and covered my face with both hands. "Damn you, Hector! How could you do this to me?" I knew exactly where he had gone; he must have set out to find the map.

The only person who could help me was Maroto. I ran to his cabin and banged on the door. The silence of an empty room was all I heard. Throwing the door open, I found that Maroto, too, was absent. My eyes widened as a little thrill of panic went through me.

There was only one thing for it: I armed myself with every device I could put my hands on-scimitar, pistols, dagger, grenade-and slipped out on deck. There was no light visible from the captain's quarters. Thank the powers, Jeremy would be deep in his rum-soaked sleep by now.

The approaching clouds had obscured the moon and deepened the shadows on deck. The darkness hid me as I made a quick count of our longboats. Two were missing. I could guess where at least one of them had gone. Creeping up to the rail, I spied the other, still in the water, with its painter tied to the ship's ladder.

Ordinarily, this lack of discipline would have annoyed me; a ship must be kept in order for the safety of everyone aboard her. But under the circumstances, this was all rather convenient. I hurried down the ladder and, in another three minutes, was rowing to shore.

As I plied the oars I began to consider which man might be to blame for this reckless excursion. I had suspected Hector of wanting the map for himself, but in fact, he had given me no evidence of such a design. On the other hand, I had certain knowledge that Maroto felt very ill-used and possibly desperate.

Would Maroto endanger the person nearest and dearest to me for the sake of the map? Why not? What was Hector's life, when compared to his own great quest to destroy the Fountain? He could have played upon Hector's greed to convince him that they should explore the hill. I vowed to find out who was responsible and have it out with the both of them.

Fear, uncertainty, and anger were making my arms shake, and I had all I could do to keep a steady hand as the boat drew near the shore. Once I felt the hull drive into the sand I leapt out, landing in salt water that just managed to spill over the tops of my boots.

One or two scattered drops of rain landed on my face, and the wind began to freshen.

The other longboat lay beached not twenty feet away, empty. Then I saw them: two silhouettes almost at the edge of the jungle. I ran towards them.

-o-

"Halt! Before I shoot you both!" I shouted at the top of my voice.

They stopped in their tracks and waited, stock still, as I approached with pistols drawn and trained on their frozen forms. I arrived somewhat out of breath, and challenged Hector first.

"By all the powers," I demanded through gritted teeth, "What devil prompted you to venture here? Was it he?" I gestured towards Maroto with my pistol.

Maroto made as if to speak, but I instantly took aim and cocked the hammer back. "One word," I said, "and I'll drop you where you stand! I could have given you back to _Spain!_ Is this the return I should expect?"

"Ye have it all wrong," Barbossa retorted. "I mean to destroy the map, just as ye wanted. I brought him along because the two of ye are the only ones who know the way."

There was silence for a moment as I struggled with myself; he had said the words I was hoping he would say. Now I had to believe them. But I was still smarting from his decision to go it alone.

"That was for you and I to do together," I snapped. "Now I see the real reason for your generous proposal-you wanted to keep me out of the way! Well, I won't have it!"

He shrugged. "I thought t' spare ye, because ye let a flock o' birds fright ye." There was a hint of derision in his smile. He gestured at my pistols. "An' ye can put those away unless ye mean t' kill the priest. I don't fear bein' shot, madam, and ye should well know why."

It was useless to threaten; not only was he wearing the Basilikon, but even in the heat of my anger I would no more have fired on Hector than on myself. I lowered my weapons, still glaring.

He smiled like a conqueror. "Now go back t' yer berth an' leave this t' me," he ordered. He would never have spoken to Elizabeth in this way, and that fact by itself was enough to keep my anger simmering.

"I shall do nothing of the kind," I replied hotly. "And I don't propose to be ordered about. Your choices are these: either I accompany you, or I give the alarm. If you don't like it, you can kill me."

Maroto looked from one to the other of us. I imagine he expected Hector to shoot me then and there. But Hector's scowl slowly changed into a smile, and at last he chuckled.

"Fierce as a wildcat, ain't ye?" He eased towards me, took hold of my arm and leaned close to my ear. "I know ye mean well, little bird," he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. "Hold yer peace now. Yer welcome to come along."

I put away my weapons, and my breathing became steadier. If he was ready to let me join him, then he truly must mean to destroy the map. My trust had been rewarded. Although a sense of unease lingered in me, the turbulent flood of emotions subsided.

We made our way cautiously through the undergrowth, Maroto leading the way, followed by Hector, and lastly myself. Occasionally, a flash of distant lightning would illuminate the landscape, and this was our only light. Hector had a lantern with him, but we could not light it until we were farther from the beach, so as not to be observed.

I kept close behind Hector as he chopped branches out of his way and pushed through the dense jungle with all the purposeful determination of an officer leading his troops, his mind focused on the battle ahead. Several times I was alarmed by the sound of a dead frond falling from a palm tree, or the wind stirring dry leaves, and I would strain my ears, listening for the imaginary footfalls of men or other creatures. Once, a drop of rain struck my face like a cold, lifeless fingertip, and I gasped. Hector turned for an instant with an incredulous glance at me; he was utterly unaffected by our surroundings.

When we reached the clearing, my anxieties faded perceptibly, just as they had on my first visit, almost as if I had crossed some invisible barrier. We paused while Hector lighted his lantern. In its dull, yellow light, I saw that Maroto was watching me with a very subdued expression. "You must guide us from here, señora," he said simply.

I nodded, and walked ahead as we approached the base of the hill. After a few moments of searching, I located the narrow opening to the cave, and pointed it out. Hector removed some of the debris blocking it. Holding up his lantern, he went inside for five or six minutes, then returned. "Goes to a tunnel," he said. "Too many twists and turns t' see how far it leads, or what be at the back of it." He looked at me.

If the words on my map meant anything, we needed to find the offering table. It wasn't likely to be in a tunnel. Sensing Maroto's eyes on me in the darkness, I cleared my throat and ventured an opinion. "We should climb the hill. I'm convinced there must have been a temple of some sort-a place dedicated to their nature gods."

We circled the hill until we found the place where the steps began-at least, there were four tall limestone blocks, and then another three, some distance ahead, followed by another gap. Each gap forced us to stop and search for the place the next stones were set. I didn't like to think how we would manage our descent.

Hector led the way now, and whenever he climbed a particularly steep block, he would turn back and offer his hand to me. Although I was likely more nimble than he, I knew how dearly he loved to play the gentleman. I took his hand each time, and it was as if we shared a kiss.

As we reached the broad, round top of the hill, the temperature dropped a good ten degrees within a few seconds, and I knew that rain was nearly upon us. Hector shined his lantern about, but the only structures we could see were the silhouettes of two stone arches standing about one hundred feet away at each side of the summit. We approached and examined one, which proved to be of no very great height, its stones held in place by a web of ficus roots which had grown through and around it. But there was no foundation, or any other sign of a structure.

So much for finding an "offering table". Then, just to make matters worse, there was a brilliant lightning flash, answered instantly by a terrific crack of thunder that sounded as though it were directly overhead. "Here it comes," I said, but no one heard me over the sudden noise of the downpour that burst from the heavens, drenching us to the skin in mere seconds.

Hector cursed under his breath, although he was possibly the driest of us all, since the brim of his hat gave him at least some shelter from the deluge. In contrast, Maroto and I resembled two sopping wet rodents. I surveyed our surroundings, blinking and wiping the heavy rain from my eyes, and wondering what to do next.

What I could see of the hilltop seemed wild and neglected, an expansive, weedy field that sloped gently down to form a depression in the centre, very like a shallow dish. The rain was causing rivulets to collect in this hollow, forming wide pools of water. I could see many small limestone blocks and even boulders tumbled about, half-buried in the sandy soil or sunk in the pools of rainwater. Hector's rough voice interrupted my observations.

"Don't expect me t' stand here all night," he growled. "I'm inclined to go back to that cave below."

"I want to look there first," I said, gesturing at the field, "before it's too flooded."

Hector held his lantern aloft and squinted through the rain. He looked back at the arches. "Don't ye see how they lean? Like as not, a sinkhole made the earth give way there."

But I was already searching the place, my intuition driving me forward. Soaking wet, in shadows beyond the light of Hector's lantern, I hunted amongst the broken stones, thorny vines, and the huge puddles of rain, looking for something that I could not even describe to myself.

I reached one of the larger boulders just as another flash of lightning illuminated its edge for an instant. "Bring the light!" I shouted at once. I was sure I had seen the strange symbol carved on the boulder—the serpentine image connected to the Fountain. Could this have been part of an ancient offering table? I was almost too excited to breathe.

Hector sent Maroto to bring me the lantern, and shouted at me, "Don't tarry! The rain-"

But just as he spoke, there was a sudden shift under me, and I felt the earth drop perhaps two feet. "Angels of grace," I whispered, not daring to move. I had seen sinkholes open up in Cornwall when mine shafts collapsed, and all at once I knew what was happening.

Maroto reached out for my hand. I took one step towards him.

There was a deafening roar and all the ground suddenly gave way. I screamed. Maroto toppled, sliding towards me in a torrent of sand, rock and water. In an instant, Hector and the upper world had disappeared. I was swallowed up in darkness as I fell into the earth, choking, clawing at the rubble, fighting for my life.

Next: Chapter 19 – Kingdom of the Dead – Maroto extracts a promise from Nina, and Barbossa's piratical nature proves very costly.


	19. Kingdom of the Dead

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

**Kingdom of the Dead**

There was nothing but darkness, and the dust choking me. I pulled the hem of my shirt over my nose to keep from inhaling the fine powder. Shaken and disoriented by the fall, I lay still and tried to think. Was anything broken? I couldn't tell, but I reckoned there would be many bruises. The back of my head throbbed, as did my shoulders. The urge to cough made me turn my neck and I was grateful to find nothing seemed amiss. I moved my fingers, then toes.

Someone was coughing close by. "Is that you, Padre?" I croaked.

"Yes. Are you injured?" I heard him extracting himself from the rocky spill, moving towards me.

I sat up. My wet clothes were coated with grainy sand, and my back ached as though it had been beaten. I closed and opened my fists; the numerous small cuts on my knuckles stung sharply. "No. Just…a bit rattled. No worse than a tavern brawl." Or a riot at Newgate, I thought. "What about you?"

Before he could answer, I heard Hector's voice, sounding far away. "I warned ye."

I looked up and discovered that the sinkhole had opened more than twenty feet above us. The silhouette of Hector's head was just visible as he peered over the edge at us.

"I don't suppose you have a rope?" I asked.

He gave an exasperated sigh and I knew he was putting his fists on his hips. "Ye weren't supposed to fall down a blasted hole!"

Maroto struggled to his feet. "It may not be a hole - more likely it's joined to the tunnel somehow," he said, running his hands along the walls.

"There's an opening here," he called out after a minute.

I followed his example, and soon found a break in the wall where drafts of air played across my face.

"And here," I said. "Surely one leads to the cave we saw." None of this assuaged Hector's sour mood.

"Thanks to yer folly, we'll have t' hope so," he said. "Light the lantern, then, so's I can find ye. I'll try t' make me way through."

He stepped back, but reappeared for an instant, with a final warning. "Don't move! Wait fer me!" Then he was gone.

"Better light the lantern," I said to Maroto. "Have you a tinderbox?"

"Yes," he replied. I heard him pull something from his pocket. "But first, you must heed me. You can't destroy the Fountain while Ponce de Leon protects it. I must tell you how to defeat him. My time may be short…"

I frowned. Why was he suddenly going on about Ponce de Leon? "Are you injured in some way?" I enquired, wondering if he had taken a blow to the head.

"No, but I-I might not be able to go on." Something in his voice was terribly urgent, and he gripped my elbow as he spoke. "I should have told you this before. Just hear me out. Before the Captain returns."

"I'm listening," I said.

"He cannot be killed, no matter how he is wounded. The only way to stop him is to keep him from ever returning to the Fountain."

At last Maroto was giving up his secrets. I pressed him for more. "How can I keep him from the Fountain?"

"By stopping the _Santiago_. He sails it by means of the Sword"- he swallowed hard-"the Sword of Triton." He evidently expected this to mean something to me.

"Never heard of it," I said. But I was curious – what use was a sword in sailing a ship?

"The Sword brings objects—_things_-to life, and they obey the owner of the weapon. You must get it away from him," He took a deep breath. "But there is one condition: the Sword may be _taken_ from a corpse, but if possessed by a living man, it must be _given_."

"Oh, is that all?" As serious as our predicament was, this last bit of information caused me to laugh, but my hopes were crumbling within me. "And you suppose a dangerous, desperate man-a conquistador who cannot be killed-will just hand it over freely?" Thoroughly discouraged, I leaned my back against the stone wall, wishing I had never become a Messenger. "You ask the impossible."

"He was a good man once," he insisted. "He will listen to you."

In the darkness, I rolled my eyes. "Why would _he_ listen to me when I can't even reason with _you_?"

"Because you offer escape, you bring release," Maroto explained patiently. "Do you think he has not felt pain? He has endured great suffering, as all those he loves have long gone from the world. And yet he remains-unable to die."

I was unconvinced, but thought I might as well hear the rest. "Will taking the Sword cause him to die? Or am I then expected to kill him?"

"No-if he gives you the Sword, you must leave him at once, before he succumbs to weakness and tries to take it back. The Sword will cause a tempest to rise. It will drive the _Santiago _onto land, where it will be marooned. He will be trapped, his stolen years will run out, and he will have no choice but to die a natural death."

I shook my head. "I think this should be your mission, Padre, not mine. You have a much greater understanding…" My voice trailed off. It staggered me to imagine what this would add to the world of troubles already crowding in on me.

"I have dedicated my life to this," said Maroto. "It is, as you say, my mission. I only ask you to do it if I fail."

I hesitated. Perhaps I should just make an empty promise and move on. My uncle had taught me that, in any event, one's plans rarely survive contact with the enemy. But I dug in my heels. Why commit myself to Maroto's plan when thus far I hadn't even glimpsed Ponce de Leon or his ship?

"I can't blindly promise," I said. "You had better hope you're wrong and your time isn't short, whatever you meant by that."

He didn't reply for a moment and I was sure I had disappointed him. Then he said, "At least promise this. If he should attack the _Medusa_-if you even think he is attacking-you will get off the ship as quickly as possible."

"Very well," I said, without much enthusiasm.

I heard him strike the flint from his tinderbox three or four times. Once he had a spark, he lit the lantern. The sight revealed to me made me catch my breath at once. The light revealed an enormous chamber, the limestone walls levelled and engraved with images of strange beasts and monsters which adorned a multitude of little squares; these I took for drawings, at first.

"What is this place?" I gasped.

Maroto gazed at the walls, then turned to me with an expression of wonder. "We have found the city's royal tombs! The Kingdom of the Dead."

"How could you know that?" A sudden suspicion struck me. "Have you been here before?"

He shook his head. "It is written in the journals. When Ponce de Leon found Cuidad Blanca, he asked for news of the fabled map, promising eternal youth to any who helped him. The people had never heard of such a thing, and they laughed at his questions. But a few elders knew better and desired the gift of the Fountain. They brought him here, where outsiders are forbidden, took him to the inner sanctum, and let him copy the map."

I was utterly certain that none of this was in the journal, but how could I call him a liar without admitting that I had seen the book myself? It was better to learn all I could before Hector found us. "Did the elders acquire eternal youth?" I asked.

Maroto leaned forward and lowered his voice. "No. He took one or two with his other captives, sailed for the Fountain, and sacrificed all so that he and his crew could extend their own lives."

He paused for a moment, and I knew he was choosing his words carefully. "Years later, the _Santiago_ returned for more hostages. Few people remained, but many bones lay half buried in the sands. It was said that the treachery of the elders had brought the wrath of the ancient gods upon the city."

"You mean the night killings, don't you?" A thrill of alarm rippled over my skin. "Are you saying that people were killed by some sort of Carib deities?"

"More like demons," he replied. "Not for revenge, but to feed."

My throat tightened. "Was it the birds?"

"No." He seemed about to say more, but then he clamped his mouth into a firm line and looked away into the shadows.

Before I could conjure forth my next question, I heard the familiar sound of Hector's footsteps, and saw a light approaching through one of the tunnels.

He looked grim as he joined us. Ignoring Maroto, he surveyed me from head to toe, frowning.

"I'm not injured," I said.

"O' course ye ain't," he snorted. But it seemed to me he looked relieved.

Maroto cleared his throat and pointed to the unexplored tunnel. "We should try this way. The map can't be far."

Hector glanced at him, then turned back to me. Finally, he addressed us both. "We'll go no further till we agree on a matter o' some importance: there's to be no more runnin' here an' there as the fancy takes ye. We stick together. If I see anyone leave our party, I'll be inclined to take it ill." There was an ominous pause. "Understood?"

Maroto and I gave quick nods of consent. Hector seemed satisfied that he had made his point, and we continued on into the tunnel.

-o-

We only went a short distance before we passed under an arch and down a few steps. The tunnel ended here, and we found ourselves in a huge cavern ringed with cliffs far above us. Stalactites hung from its ceiling, forming weird columns and twisted curtains of glittering white and gold. The ceiling was too high for our lantern's light to illuminate it. Before us lay a wide curving path with steep drops on either side of it. Gentle sounds of rushing water filled the air, and I realised that the path must bridge an underground river.

As we advanced, the air cooled and grew slightly moist with the spray from below. I paused a few times to listen. It was difficult to hear over the burbling of the river's current, but I was almost certain there was an occasional shuffling as something moved on the rock ledges above us. It sounded much bigger than a bird. Something soft and heavy.

"What ails ye?" Hector hissed as I turned slowly with eyes wide.

I studied his expression. His eyes had the familiar glint that betokened a febrile obsession with plunder that was almost a madness. The Kraken itself could have been dogging our footsteps, but Hector would push on until he put his hand on the treasure.

"Nothing." I resumed walking.

Once across the river, we passed through a second arch and entered another chamber. The entrance was flanked with iron baskets of torches, which we lit from our lantern and placed in brackets on the walls. Gradually, they produced enough light for us to see the entire cavern.

We were in a high chamber that looked as if it were made entirely of gold, but this illusion was caused by the many gold panels that surrounded us, all inscribed with strange signs and geometric shapes.

"By all the powers…" I murmured as I recognised what they were.

The chamber's walls and ceiling had been engraved with the constellations, all shown in their correct position from the horizon, and in relation to each other. We were standing at the centre of an immense astronomical map of gold – a complete representation of the world and the sky.

Then my eyes fixed on the far end of the chamber.

"The ruler of the Dead," Maroto whispered almost in my ear. "The patron of Cuidad Blanca."

Framed by an enormous arched recess in the wall, there stood a towering gold figure, an idol seated on a throne, with a gigantic carved wheel behind it which I knew to be a calendar. Although the idol resembled a person in its general aspects, it had a long, serpentine tail, and its entire body was spotted like a leopard.

Its face could only be called monstrous. In place of a nose, there was a snout with slit-like nostrils and a vertical groove like a jaguar. Something like a serpent protruded from its forehead, but whether this was part of the creature or represented part of a crown, I couldn't tell.

Its heavy brows frowned over two mad, staring, round eyes, carved like pinwheels and full of hellish glee. The tubular lips smiled widely, exposing all of the upper teeth, and curling up at the ends in circles like post holes. From the centre of the mouth, a thin, lolling tongue with serrated edges fell past the chin, ending well below the shoulders. Many small holes had been worked into the tongue, which looked almost like pores.

And yet, I breathed a sigh of relief. I don't know what I was expecting-a living demon, perhaps? -but the figure, while repulsive, was a mere statue, and certainly didn't terrify me.

We began to make our way cautiously across the chamber, navigating amongst numerous disorderly heaps of countless tiny golden figurines-animals, people, rafts, vessels. Offerings, perhaps, to the city's divine patron. As we walked, we looked all round us for any sign of the map.

When we drew near the figure of the deity, Hector jostled my elbow and nodded towards the ground near its feet. More than a dozen mummies were seated there, posed as if they were leaning upon their spears. Their deteriorating bodies had been dyed red and dressed in red robes.

As we gazed, Maroto stepped past us. He stooped over one mummy, then straightened up, holding up something in his hand -– a snow-white feather that seemed freshly fallen from some great bird. I drew back in alarm.

"These are your birds," Maroto told me. "After the elders were buried here, stories say they were condemned to take the form of birds each day and roam the forest, feeding on carrion. They have no power to kill. The man you saw was likely some unfortunate who had died of illness or starvation-"

But Hector cut him short. "I care not a louse whether they be birds, rats or devils!" he said in his rough, gravelly voice. One restless hand felt for the grip of his pistol as he spoke. "If ye know where the map be, speak up - unless ye have no wish t' see the morning!"

Maroto was unperturbed. He merely pointed over our heads at the idol, and all at once I saw the map-the object of all our endeavours and desires-and wondered how I could have ever missed it.

When we had first sighted the golden idol, its massive hands had seemed to be folded across its chest, but, on closer inspection, they were actually flexed back at the wrists, with the thumbs and index fingers holding the corners of a small, shining rectangle - the map, engraved on a polished gold tablet.

"We must pry it loose," said Maroto, as if the very thought made him uncomfortable.

That would require me, as the lightest and smallest of our party, to clamber up this monstrosity, stand between its hands, and pry the tablet loose. I studied the little artefact from different angles, and judged it to be no more than two feet on the longest side, and so thin that I could not tell the thickness.

I glanced at Hector. "I need a leg up, please."

He did not reply, but laced his fingers together to form a sling. I put one hand on his shoulder and stepped into his hands. On a count of "three", he boosted me high enough to throw my weight upon the statue's knee.

As I wriggled across its knee and drew myself up to the heavy forearm, I noticed that the gold had a peculiar feel to it, most unlike any metal I had ever touched. It was leathery, and there was an odour clinging to it that I associated with snakes or reptiles. I stared at the gold. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it. Perhaps my recent fall had rattled me more than I knew.

Seeing me hesitate, Hector urged me on. "Yer nearly there! If ye fall, we'll catch ye - keep climbin'!"

I ventured along the forearm and braced my feet against the wrist. I could have sworn that it gave just a bit under the pressure, but again I looked and saw nothing unusual.

I pulled out my knife and tested a corner of the tablet. The softness told me it was pure, unadulterated gold. Perhaps the idol had been made the same way, and that explained its softness. I could press my blade on the tablet's corner and make it rock a bit. I pried it loose, bending it slightly, and felt soft wafts of warm air above me, almost like the breath of some titanic creature. I looked at the statue's face. It was clearly a mere statue. My fears were affecting my judgement.

Hector stood below, face upturned, watching me. I dropped the tablet to his waiting hands, and saw his features glow with delight as he caught it.

I climbed back down and slid off the statue's golden knee. Maroto caught and steadied me, as Hector stood nearby, grasping the tablet. I turned to Hector and held out my hand. After a slight delay, he grudgingly acquiesced and surrendered the precious tablet to me.

"Let's be off. We'll destroy it outside," he said gruffly.

We hastened back across the chamber, and had almost reached the arched entrance, when there was an abrupt scuffling similar to the noises I'd heard on the bridge. A grey, lizard-like creature as big as an ox leapt from behind a treasure heap not five feet away. It was fat-bellied, with clawed feet, and it gave a sharp hiss as it approached.

We backed away slowly, wanting to create as much distance between it and ourselves – who knew what it wanted? Dinner, probably. I was quite sure that neither Hector nor Maroto fancied becoming its next meal. It moved forward on stubby muscular legs, much quicker than I had anticipated for a creature of that size. Hector drew his pistol and fired, but the creature's thick, leathery hide deflected the shot.

And then the statue moved.

In an instant, the statue's tongue darted out to an amazing length, but it wasn't aimed at us. With the speed of a frog catching a fly, it seized the lizard, closing over its prey like a hand rolling into a fist. Then, as I watched in horror, it clenched tighter and tighter. The body of the lizard creature began to crumple and shrink in the way an orange will do as the juice and pulp are squeezed out of it.

Maroto's face was pale as ivory. He turned to me. "It will feed for hours," he said. "All the flesh will be siphoned in through its tongue, leaving only bones."

So that was how the residents of Cuidad Blanca had died. My own tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and I couldn't speak a word. I looked at Maroto with wild eyes.

"The worst is over, señora," he said. "We are safe from harm, and have almost achieved our goal! Let us go now."

Maroto seized a torch, and I took the lantern. We all ran from that temple of horrors, and on to the bridge. As we crossed it, I had the urge to fling the tablet into the river, but somehow I restrained myself. I wanted to be certain of its destruction. When we reached the other side, I called a halt to our exodus.

Out of breath, I set down the lantern and laid the tablet on the ground. "It's pure gold," I gasped. "Easy to smash it – the sooner the better!" I picked up a rock, but my hand was still shaking from our ordeal.

Hector caught my wrist and forced me back.

"Keep yer hands off it!" he shouted as we struggled. "Would ye throw away eternal youth, ye feckless wench?

I threw my weight against his as he tried to push me back, and we staggered with uneven steps a few feet away from the tablet. "You never meant to destroy it!" I cried, my heart bursting with disappointment and anger. "In spite of all I told you about the Fountain!"

"How d' ye know there ain't a way round the Ritual?" he snarled.

"Let me go! I gave you a second chance, even after you betrayed me—and you took advantage, just as you always do! You planned this all along!"

Over Hector's shoulder, I glimpsed Maroto darting forward. He snatched up the tablet and ran for the passage leading out. "Stop!" I screamed after him.

Hector turned just in time to see Maroto disappear into the tunnel. He cast a sharp look at the ground where the tablet had lain. "Curse you and yer naggin' ways!" he yelled at me, "He'll destroy the map!"

He shoved me aside and set off in hot pursuit. I followed quickly, but the tunnel had so many corners, I quickly lost sight of them and had to let the sound of their footsteps guide me.

Embittered by Hector's treachery, my breast overflowed with recriminations as I chased them. I should have known better, of course. I had trusted him to put our love ahead of his greed and appetites. What a fool I had been! That woman in Tortuga should have told me all I needed to know about him and the state of our marriage. Betrayal meant nothing to him. He was still a pirate, for all his gentlemanly pretences.

I had reached the last leg of the tunnel when I heard a single shot fired. Had he just shot Maroto? "Oh, no, Hector- _please,_ no!" I muttered, as I rushed forward. I was too distracted to recall that Hector had already discharged his pistol, and hadn't reloaded it.

As I ran out the entrance to the cave, I was violently seized and jerked back. My arms were pinioned and bound, and my weapons taken. But all thought of resistance was driven out by the sight that greeted my eyes.

At my feet lay the motionless body of my husband. My heart gave a sickening lurch as I gazed at his features, so pale and serene. Blood covered the left side of his face. I screamed and fell to my knees. As I sobbed, I heard rude laughter, and looked up to see my assailants-Digger and two other pirates. Then I saw Maroto's body lying further off in a dark pool of blood. He was clearly dead.

In the midst of this tableau of horrors, Jeremy stepped into the lantern light. He was holding the tablet in one hand and pointing a pistol at me with the other.

* * *

**Chapter 20 – Winner Takes All** – Jeremy shows the cards he holds.


	20. Winner Takes All

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**Winner Takes All**

"Good evening, my dear," said Jeremy, smiling as he levelled his pistol at me.

"_Monster!"_ I screamed as I knelt over Hector's body. "What have you _done?_" The storm had passed, but the soggy ground soaked the knees of my breeches, and there was a rainstorm of a different sort brewing in my eyes.

I bowed my head and let the tears run as I buried my face against Hector's chest. A conflagration was incinerating my heart, and no amount of weeping could quench that fire. I vowed to make Jeremy pay for his deed in the most excruciating way I could devise.

"Yes, I was afraid it might distress you," Jeremy remarked lightly. "But really, it was the best alternative. We only shot the Spaniard. Mr Digger struck your friend over the head with an oar."

I pressed my ear against Hector's ribs until I could hear the soft thudding of his heartbeat and feel the movement of his breastbone as he breathed. "Oh, Hector, Hector…" I gulped under my breath, sick with worry over him.

Digger hoisted me roughly to my feet and kept me back as the other two blackguards put manacles on Hector. A makeshift litter was brought forth, and they rolled him onto it.

"Well," said Jeremy, glancing about him. "I think that's all, here." He gave a quick, decisive nod and signalled the ruffians to start for the shore. He was followed by the two men carrying Hector, while Digger and I brought up the rear.

I turned to look back at Maroto's body. "You can't just leave him here," I pleaded.

Digger gave me a shove. "One more word, an' you can stay an' keep 'im company," he spat.

We were nearly out of the clearing when a fluttering noise made me look back once more. My blood turned to ice as I watched the mysterious white birds begin to gather around Maroto's body. "No…please," I murmured weakly to whatever saints were listening, "not _that_..."

Digger gave me another shove, and I stumbled as I walked into the jungle ahead of him.

When we reached the boats, there was heavy fog building in behind the rain. The _Medusa's_ lights could barely be seen, and the _Pearl_ was invisible, if she was even still there. If Jack had made good on his threat to weigh at once, then Hector and I were now completely alone.

Jeremy seated himself in the boat, and turned to look back at me. "I did try to keep you out of it," he said, "so you've really no one to blame but yourself. You should have gone to sleep like a good girl after all that card playing." Then he turned his back.

I slid off my seat, and was able to cradle Hector's head in my lap as we were rowed back to our ship. Though my hands were bound, I caressed his face as well as I could, and tried to wipe away the blood. I cupped my palms around his jaws and closed my eyes. _Wake up, wake up, sweetheart, _I repeated silently. _I didn't bring you back from Isla de Muerte for this._

But he remained unresponsive.

-o-

When I stepped on deck, one thing was painfully clear-we had lost the _Medusa_. Jeremy and Digger had evidently opened the rum stores, and the drunken carousing of our erstwhile crew would have done credit to Tortuga. Fighting, drinking and gaming were everywhere, with the occasional pair of dice bouncing off my boots after a particularly energetic throw. All of them swaggered about, feeling invulnerable, boasting, threatening.

Jeremy leaned near my ear. "Nothing like rum and extra shares of plunder to keep pirates happy."

"They're a mob," I hissed. "There's no discipline. You'll endanger the ship and every one on her."

"I shall take that under advisement," he said pleasantly. "And now you'll be shown to your new quarters." He turned on his heel and departed.

Digger and his grinning cohorts locked us in the brig, and then mercifully cleared off. I had feared they would set a watch on us, but who amongst the raucous crowd on deck would spare the time to actually do any work? I clutched the bars, trying out a few profane epithets I had learnt from Jack, then settled down next to Hector, hoping he would come round soon.

It was sad but unsurprising that he had given in to the temptation of the Fountain. He had rebuked me and called me names when I stood in his path, and yet… and yet. In many ways we were cut from the same cloth. I understood him. I knew his flaws, his remarkable strengths, and how fiercely he contended with a world which seemed set against him. Not an easy man to love by any means. But I did – loved him just as he was, no matter the cost to me.

In the midst of my thoughts, I was startled by a groan. Hector was stirring at last. He held one hand to the wound on his forehead, moving like a drunkard at first, then gradually sat up and opened his eyes.

I began to touch his forehead lightly, but he winced and pushed my hand aside. "What happened?" he said hoarsely.

"To the best of my knowledge," I said, "Digger gave you one hell of a smack with an oar."

He glanced about sharply and his body tensed. "Why do I find meself locked in the brig of me own ship?" he growled. "An' what's become of the map?"

I pressed my lips together and breathed a quiet sigh through my nostrils. How typical. Possessions always came first with Hector. _His_ plunder, _his_ ship… I should have been angry, but my spirits had sunk too low for that.

"Steady yourself, love," I said glumly. "We're in a deal of trouble and you don't know the half of it yet."

He turned his penetrating gaze on me, waiting.

"Maroto is dead," I said stiffly, "just in case you wondered. Shot and … and eaten, most likely. And _we_ find _our_selves locked in the brig because Jeremy has taken the tablet and the _Medusa_. He must have followed us and set a trap. Digger's in on it, devil rot his guts, and several others. Oh, and you needn't worry yourself about me - I'm not hurt," I added with another jab of sarcasm.

"I can see that," he growled tartly. "So why didn't ye unbind me hands?" Well, I thought, bandy words with a pirate whose head is throbbing, and this is what you get – a petulant child. I made allowances, and bit my tongue.

"I'll unbind us both when we have a plan," I replied. "Until then, I don't wish to show Jeremy that I have certain skills with restraints and door locks."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why'd he spare us, anyways? We should be dead - he's got everything he needs now."

"Hector," I said gently, longing for the comfort of his embrace, "if anything had happened to you, I think it would have killed me." He slipped one arm about me as far as possible with his wrists in irons, and kissed my face absently.

After a few moments' silence, he gave an abrupt nod.

"He needs somethin' from ye," he declared. "He means t' tell ye he'll kill me if ye don't give it to him."

I frowned. "How do you know it isn't the reverse? That he plans to use me to-"

"Whose noggin got crowned, yers or mine?" he interrupted me. "He showed ye a bit of me blood, so's it would tug at yer heartstrings. Then he'll threaten t' do worse." He was quiet, then added, "'Tis what I'd do."

"But he said nothing all the way back to the ship," I said.

"He'll tell ye when he's good an' ready," Hector grunted.

At that moment, we turned our heads at the sound of boots clumping down the ladder. I went to the bars and peered down the passageway. As if in answer to Hector's prediction, Digger and another grinning pirate arrived with keys.

"Yer wanted in the captain's quarters," Digger said to me.

I glanced at Hector as they unlocked the brig. It looked as though Jeremy must indeed be good and ready.

-o-

"Ah! There you are!" Jeremy said cheerfully, waving me to a seat the table. "Well done on finding the map for me. I have it safely tucked away."

Digger untied my hands, and Jeremy placed a goblet of spiced wine in front of me. "A bit of refreshment for you," he remarked, shooing Digger out the door.

I glared at him as he joined me at table. Then I closed my eyes, ambushed by a sudden, dreadful memory. I recalled another meeting, years ago, following the death of my uncle, who had raised me as his daughter. In the midst of my grief, a relative I had never known arrived at Highcliffe - Hanibal Bitter. He had called me to a meeting similar to this, placed a comforting goblet of spiced wine before me, and offered to protect me if I would sign away all my property. I had refused, and then I had drunk the wine. Both actions were nearly fatal to me.

"What's in it?" I murmured. "Opium?"

"I assure you there is no drug present," Jeremy replied, and lifted the goblet to his lips for a quick sip. "I have matters to discuss with you that will require your full attention." He smiled the same smile as James – warm, broad, and all business.

"Lord Hervey is out of health," he remarked after studying me for some minutes. "He will likely be dead before I return to England." He took a sip from his own drink and continued gazing thoughtfully at me. "I would hazard a guess that he is no older than your father was when he lost his life all those years ago."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "What are you driving at?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, perhaps. Only it does seem a shame when men of superior intellect and ability see their time run out so swiftly." Setting his glass down, he added, "Take my brother, for instance. You and he were the same age, but I warrant you wouldn't consider yourself ready to bid adieu to life, would you?"

I did not like the way this conversation was tending-the more so as I couldn't see its terminus. "You're in an unusually philosophical humour, this evening," I replied. "Does murder and mutiny often affect you like that?"

He laughed appreciatively. "You know, it will be a shame if you and I can't reach an accord. I would quite enjoy working with you." He sat back and crossed his legs, watching me. "I can see why he's so taken with you," he added slyly. My face flushed and my back grew rigid; there was no need to ask the obvious question.

"Never mind, my dear," he went on, "I intend to show you the cards I hold, and then we shall decide what comes next."

"Then you'd best get on with it," I suggested. "The hour is late."

"As you like, then." He tossed back the rest of his drink in one swig, and threw an arm over the back of his chair. "At sunrise, we shall weigh anchor. But I shan't return to England just yet. I shall sail to the Fountain of Youth, thereby proving the map is correct, and then… Well, then I should very much like to test its waters."

I shrugged. "Best of luck to you, then. Release me and the Captain, and do as you like."

"If only it were that simple," he replied. "Unfortunately, the Fountain requires a ritual of which, sadly, I know nothing. But I suspect you might be of some use in that regard." He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees and peering at me steadily. "You, and a man who seems to mean a great deal to you, are both my prisoners, and your other friend, Jack Sparrow, is anchored within range of my guns. There is no help for you in these waters-indeed, no one knows where you are. I can despatch Sparrow and Barbossa whenever I like."

My fury exploded. "They _helped_ you, dammit! They don't deserve to die!"

"But they're pirates!" he laughed, eyebrows arched in surprise. "Of course they deserve to die! Especially that old brigand you've taken up with. But see here," he grew serious and leaned forward, "I am prepared to trade you their lives-and your own-if you disclose to me all you know about the ritual."

"Why should I know anything?"

"Because," he said, "my employers had acquired two journals written by Ponce de Leon himself, but they vanished before they could be properly examined. And we believe they were stolen by Captain Harry Bitter and his piratical friend, Edward Teague. Since Captain Bitter is deceased and Teague has slipped through our hands time and again, that makes you a person of great interest to me."

"I know nothing of this. Perhaps you should have questioned Maroto, instead of shooting him."

He gave me a cold half smile. "Do you think we didn't? When we caught that eccentric prelate searching Lord Hervey's house, do you think we neglected to interrogate him? How do you suppose he ended up in Newgate? We knew of his obsession with the Fountain, but he was most uncooperative. He wouldn't even tell us where the map was, though we had already conducted a search of the ruins here. You didn't know that, I'll wager." He poured me another drink, clearly enjoying himself.

"My mission was to get Maroto to lead me to the map," he said. "I think you'll agree I managed it quite well?"

"I don't see that you managed anything," I objected. "It was sheer luck that I was sent to exchange him for you. When he heard of your destination, he signed on to prevent you from getting the map."

"Exactly," Jeremy said. "Have you ever heard of the 'Spanish Prisoner'? It is quite a famous swindle, and I took inspiration from it. The general idea is to convince the mark that someone in prison requires their help -– the usual object is to extract money." He smiled. "My object was slightly different - it was to trick Maroto into revealing the location of the map to someone he trusted."

I sat still as a statue, the blood slowly draining from my face. Now I understood. It was horrible.

Jeremy nodded approvingly. "Yes, you were chosen to be that 'someone' and therefore, I needed to give you a way to earn his trust. I arranged the entire prisoner exchange, knowing he would never consign himself to the Spanish king. I counted on the fact that Harry Bitter's daughter would be a first rate Messenger, and devise a plan to release me, your countryman, without surrendering such a desperate, seemingly innocent man. And you have not disappointed me. I commend you for your resourcefulness."

"That's why you made such a secret of our destination," I marvelled, aghast at what he was saying. "You let me know the city's name at the last minute, so Maroto wouldn't be suspicious. He trusted me, and so he signed on with Jack."

"You see?" Jeremy said. "You have really been working for me all the while."

And so I had, unwittingly doing terrible things that I could never amend. I was responsible for Maroto's death. I had persuaded Hector to join the venture, which now threatened his life, having already cost him his ship.

I hated Jeremy with every bone in my body.

"It's morning," I blurted out. "I'm tired and I need to rest." But what I really needed was to get away from him. To think. Fortunately, Jeremy scented victory and was inclined to indulge me.

"Take as long as you like to refresh yourself," he said. "We're at least three days out from our next port of call."

The Fountain was closer than I had imagined.

-o-

Hector was immediately suspicious. "Why'd he show his hand like that?" he asked, after hearing my report. "Now ye know everything."

"Because it doesn't matter," I said. "We'll be dead - he'll kill us if I don't give him the secret, or sacrifice us at the Fountain if I do. Perhaps that's what he meant by 'testing'."

My only consolation was that Jack had weighed anchor sometime in the foggy night, and was gone. I almost smiled as I recalled Jeremy's reaction and how I had given that particular knife a twist.

"Where's the_ Pearl?_" he had demanded hotly when we emerged on deck after our conversation. Morning was beginning to burn off the fog, and Jack's ship was plainly, indisputably gone.

I laughed. "He's given you the slip, hasn't he? You know…" I stepped closer and looked him in the eye, "he's been on edge ever since he found poor James' gold ring on the _Berwick_. Well, Jack's got it now, and I don't suppose you'll ever see it again."

Jeremy had given me a murderous look that convinced me he had planned on killing Jack to revenge his brother. But my triumph was only temporary; now I was back in the brig, sorting through the wreckage of all my efforts that, in the end, were so misguided and had brought such bad fortune to those I loved.

_James_…if only I had listened to James' hints that Jeremy was dangerous and had no allies but himself. I had been so caught up in proving myself a competent Messenger that, though I remembered his words, I hadn't heeded them.

"Then we've to kill him before he kills us," Hector declared.

I was startled out of my thoughts. "Sorry?"

"I said, we've to kill him before he kills us," Hector repeated. "What are ye dreamin' about when I'm talkin' to ye? We need a plan…"

"First, I need sleep," I yawned.

"Sleep when yer dead!" he retorted.

"Shouldn't be long," I shot back miserably. "I've seen to that."

He seized me by my elbows and gave me a long searching look. "Ye've seen t' _nothing_," he said. "Ye played yer hand as best ye could. Yer only beat when ye give up, so hold fast an' keep fightin'."

"I admit I played me own part in this," he went on. "I let me guard down when I saw Maroto take the map."

I stared at the floor, chewing my lip. I couldn't deny it: his relentless hunt for the map certainly hadn't helped matters. I was on the brink of asking him if I would ever mean more to him than gold. Would he ever choose me over treasure? But I didn't think I could countenance his answer.

He tipped my chin up with his hand and our eyes met. "Remember when ye said I were yer hero? I s'pose ye know better now," he muttered sadly. "Why'd you even tell me o' the map? Ye must have known ye couldn't trust me."

"I did, my heart, I did," I replied. "But what was I to do? You're the centre of my world, and I can't go on keeping things from you. I chose to tell you, and I don't regret it. You are who you are, and I love you, no matter what. If we're destined to fall, we fall together."

He caressed the side of my neck and pulled me close. His kiss, the pressure of his warm, generous lips on mine, set the blood rushing through my veins and made my face flush with desire. His fingers traced the line of my throat as he kissed my nose, my eyelids, and then returned to my mouth, with more passion this time, parting my lips with his tongue and combing my tresses with his fingers.

I slid my arms over his shoulders and clasped them about his neck, drinking in his warmth and strength. "Sorry Maroto's gone," he rasped softly in my ear. "I assure ye, he was as eager t' go back as I was."

"I know," I murmured, feeling quite exhausted. "I'll be stronger after I sleep a bit."

He lowered me slowly to a resting place on the floor, and I murmured one last thing before I fell asleep. "Maroto told me things while we waited for you. He said to leave the _Medusa_ if Ponce de Leon attacks her…"

My head drooped and my eyes closed. Then I dreamed I was ten years of age, staying in the home of Ammand the Corsair. From my window I could see flocks of brown and white goats climbing the green hills, and in the distance, clouds hung low between the pale blue slopes of mountains. Then Mavash, Ammand's wife, called me to my lessons and the scene changed. She was laughing and nodding approval as I practiced the Bandari dancing she had taught me, but as she laughed, she said, "_Barat doa mikonam!"_ over and over, meaning "I will pray for you". Then, her voice echoed one final word, an urgent message: "_Bandari!_"

I awakened with a frightened gasp, seized by the conviction that our vessel was doomed. I lay awake, with my nerves keyed to the breaking point, ready to rouse Hector and abandon ship at once. Yet, as I waited and listened, with my heart pounding wildly, there was nothing beyond the normal sounds of a ship making way. Her timbers creaked gently, as though I was being rocked in a cradle, and I heard no shouts or firearms being discharged. Perhaps my dream was simply a vision of a place I associated with happy memories. I listened to Hector snoring for a few moments and gradually grew calmer. I settled back down to sleep.

A few moments later, the first volley of cannon fire shook the _Medusa_.

* * *

**Next – Chapter 21** – **The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea **– Barbossa and Nina confront a mutineer.


	21. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Disclaimer:** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 21**

**The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea**

Cannons! There was no mistaking the sound of great guns.

But now that I had awakened, all was silent. Had the roar of a ship's guns broken through my dream, or were they part of it? I strained to hear, holding my breath. There was nothing. I must have dreamt the sound so vividly that it startled me awake, its faint echo ringing in my ears even now.

I raised my head, then propped myself up on my elbows. Hector sat up beside me, tense and alert. Perhaps it hadn't been a dream after all.

"Did you hear it as well?" I whispered. "Could Jack be bringing the _Pearl _back to help us?" But I knew that was impossible. The _Pearl_ had sailed hours ago, under cover of the heavy fog. She had gone long before the mutiny.

"Nay," Hector muttered. "Twas the sound o' some other ship's guns."

We sat motionless in the dark brig, listening uneasily.

After a few moments, Maroto's words suddenly popped into my mind. _If you even think he is attacking..._

"We need to go," I burst out. "Now, while we have time. This is our chance!" I began working my wrists back and forth, slowly but steadily loosening the ropes. At last I was able to squeeze one hand enough to pull it out. Then I tugged the ropes off my other hand and was free.

I grabbed Hector's manacles and took a pin from my hair. He chuckled. "You an' yer pins…"

"Hold still," I said. "I must do this by sound and touch." A few moments later and I had released him. "Now for the door."

"Wait! We've no plan, woman-no bearings nor heading! Ye can't make it up as ye go along! How d' we plan to take back the ship?"

"We're not taking her back," I replied, busy with the door lock. "We're abandoning her."

A heavy paw clamped my shoulder and spun me about. "Abandon her?" He sounded horrified. "Yer as mad as Maroto! An' where, pray tell, do we go?"

"Into one of the longboats," I said impatiently. This seemed the merest detail-my concentration was on leaving the _Medusa_ as Maroto had advised.

A second blast came, followed by a crash directly above us. "That one struck her gun deck!" Hector exclaimed.

"Don't you see?" I demanded. "If it isn't the _Pearl_, then who is it? What other ship would be out here in the midst of an uncharted sea?"

He hesitated, but only for an instant. "I care not if it be the devil himself! I'll still be takin' me ship back, thank ye-an' the map with it!"

His pig-headed insistence made me want to kill him. How was I to get him off the _Medusa_, short of pushing him? But before I could deliver a volley of angry words, I had a sudden inspiration. I nodded my agreement. "As you like-weapons first. Then, to your quarters for the map."

We soon discovered that our weapons had been jammed muzzle-first into a small wooden barrel near the foot of the stair. Arming ourselves, we rushed up to the gun deck. The uproar was deafening. The attacking vessel had blown holes in the sides of the ship, and chaos reigned as the gunners scrambled to ready the cannons amidst clouds of dust and debris. The deck was strewn with splinters of iron and wood, bits of broken rigging and pools of blood. A cacophony of shouted orders assaulted our ears, whilst ammunition and buckets of water were delivered at a hot pace, and casualties were dragged away.

I had hoped we could slip past in the confusion, but some of the men spotted us and charged. I fired my pistols and dropped two of them, then drew my scimitar.

Hector, a cutlass in each hand, held off four gunners, slashing the weapons from their hands with lightning fast strokes. "Main deck," he shouted to me. "Now!" Without pausing to question his orders, I dashed up the steps and emerged just outside the great cabin. I hid behind the quarterdeck stairs and scanned my surroundings.

It was quieter up here, though I could hear Jeremy on the deck above me shouting orders. He wanted the men ready to sweep the deck of the attacking ship with gunfire when she drew near. I sighed. His orders would be futile if the other ship was the _Santiago_. He would find no one on that deck.

I turned to the door of the great cabin behind me and saw that it was very slightly ajar. Scimitar at the ready, I eased it open just a fraction more. I peered through the crack and saw Digger standing at the chart table with his back to me. In the centre of the table was the golden map. Jeremy must have left it there when the ship was attacked. Digger extended his left hand to take the tablet. In his right he held a cutlass.

As I watched Maroto's murderer, my mind's eye recalled other images: my poor friend, shot by this villain and left to be devoured. The look of ugly satisfaction on Digger's face at the sight of my distress over Hector's bloody wound. I began to see everything through a red mist of pure anger.

I threw open the door. He turned quickly, saw me, and laughed as he stared at the scimitar in my hand. _We'll see if you're laughing when I'm through with you,_ I thought, tightening my fingers around its hilt.

"What d' ye think yer doin'?" he asked contemptuously, holding me three feet away with the point of his cutlass at my throat.

"Preparing to kill you," I spat back.

"With a short blade like that? How-"

I dodged under his arm, gripping my weapon at both ends. It came down on his shoulder like an axe and he dropped his cutlass with a yell. I leaned towards his face and put the blade under his chin. _"That's how!"_ I hissed, as I cut his throat.

He dropped to the floor, blood spattering the air. I picked up his cutlass and ran him through for good measure. "For Maroto, you Judas dog!" I spat, turning just as Hector came through the door. Our eyes met, and I knew he understood every last drop of anger and sorrow that clenched my heart.

"I've killed the bastard," I muttered wearily, letting Digger's cutlass clatter to the floor.

Hector picked it up and hurled it away. "'Tis a good habit," he explained. "Many a man's been killed by an enemy he thought was dead." Then his gaze turned to the stern windows and his eyes widened.

"Down!" he roared. We hit the deck as the cabin exploded around us. Furniture was blown apart, the jagged pieces striking the bulkhead like spears. I crouched in a corner as the round shot bounced and ricocheted about the room. Another blast peppered the walls with smaller projectiles.

When we looked up, the cabin no longer had a door, and we could see Jeremy moving quickly towards the bow of the ship. Barbossa frowned. "What's he doing?"

"Who cares?" I seized the map. "You've got this-now we're for the stern boat!"

As I spoke, a bottle of rum rolled aimlessly about the floor, fetching up against my foot. Impulsively I picked it up, then grabbed some bread and cheese from the wreckage. Stuffing these items into my clothes, I ran to the gaping hole where the stern windows had been. The lines holding the longboat were just within my reach, but as I touched them they slithered of their own will, like snakes. I let go with a gasp of disgust, and the lines began to lower the boat to the water with no human intervention. I remembered the Sword of Triton and a chill like an icy fingernail traced a path up my spine to my hair.

But there was no other choice-it was either the _Medusa_ or the boat. Dropping the tablet into the boat as it descended, I swung myself onto the nearest line, and went down hand over hand until I could step aboard the small vessel. Then I looked up to see Hector, fully armed, climbing down the rope in similar fashion.

"I said we stay on the ship!" he argued as soon as he reached the boat.

"We _can't!_" I countered. As I spoke, the lines and block pulleys released our boat, and we were free of the _Medusa_.

"Now _pull_, if you value your life!" I seized an oar and pushed us away from the ship's hull. Hector and I took up oars, and began to manoeuvre our craft away from the fighting.

The fog closed round us with unsettling speed, and it wasn't long before we lost sight of the _Medusa_. The shouts, explosions and flashes from the cannons continued for a while, but became fainter.

At last, there was no more cannon fire. There were no more voices. The acrid smell of flames and gunpowder faded, until only the salty smell of the sea remained.

We ceased rowing, and listened without speaking. There was silence but for the lapping of the water on the sides of our boat. And fog, nothing but fog, on all sides. I tried to catch Hector's eye, but he seemed to be lost in thought. We drifted quietly for what seemed an eternity as night came on and the eerie blue-grey fog thickened.

Doubt began to take its toll on me with unanswerable questions. Had I done the right thing? I had kept my promise to Maroto to leave the _Medusa_ if I thought she was under attack by Ponce de Leon, but what use was that if Hector and I were left to die at sea?

When I could stand the silence no longer I cleared my throat, but Hector stopped me with a sharp glance and an impatient wave. I subsided, sliding off my seat and reclining with my back against one side of the hull and my feet resting on the other.

Then I folded my arms and my gaze fell upon something that lay near my elbow. The tablet. My little golden rival for Hector's heart.

I glanced at him again and wondered how long his silence would continue. Then I tried to guess whether Hector would have boarded the longboat with me if I hadn't tossed the tablet into it first. Would he have chosen to follow me, or would he have stayed with his ship and his prize? A little voice within me whispered a suggestion: even if he had lost the _Medusa_, perhaps he would have been happy enough in the boat by himself, with the map.

I raised my eyes and peered out from under the brim of my hat. Hector was still sitting as before, staring into the fog. Still thinking, no doubt. Probably wishing he had never laid eyes upon me or paid any mind to my mad impulses.

He slowly shifted his gaze and saw me looking at him. We stared for a moment.

"So, satisfy me curiosity," he said. "What move are ye plannin' next?"

The truth was that I hadn't a clue. "Hector-the _Medusa_ and every soul on her were doomed," I tried to explain. "I knew we had to leave the ship. We had no choice."

"An' how did ye know that, if ye don't mind me askin'?"

I gulped, certain my next words would infuriate him. "I knew from a dream I had just before the first cannon volley."

There was a long sigh from Hector. I decided to press on with my defence. "But that wasn't the only reason. Maroto told me. He made me promise to jump ship-"

Hector's temper erupted. "Maroto got himself killed! That's how clever he was! Tell me why, by all the powers, do ye think he knew a blazin' thing?"

"He knew a great deal," I shot back. "And I discovered most of it!"

"An' like as not, most of it be tall tales!"

Perhaps he thought to have the final word. Instead, he had thrown down the gauntlet, and I took up the challenge furiously. "You think you wed a simple maid, don't you?" I retorted.

I seized the tablet by its smooth, cold edges and held it up for him to see. "This is why you wouldn't believe Maroto. Because if you credited his story, you would have to stand off from your search for the Fountain. But you're bent on this map and the dark glamour of eternal youth! So you refused to believe his warnings, and when you got the chance, you took him to get the map. The only difference was that Maroto wanted to destroy it. You want to claim it and use it."

"What if I do?" he argued. But he didn't disagree with what I had said. I was longing to heave the map overboard, but something nameless stopped me, just as it had before.

Frustrated, I put the tablet down. "I know Maroto told the truth. I translated the journal. I studied the old map. And I spent a great deal of time trying to dig answers out of him."

"Lucky fer you, I ain't a jealous man," Hector remarked acidly. "So that be the reason ye went promenadin' about the _Pearl _with him every day, accordin' t' Jack."

He was trying to change the subject and get under my skin-the closest he could bring himself to conceding that I had won the argument.

"What other reason would I have?" I said to the man who wasn't jealous. "I sacrificed all my mornings, and begrudged every moment. Would you like to know why?"

He acknowledged my question with an indifferent nod.

"Because I thought of you a thousand times each day," I said softly. "I wanted no conversation from others. Half way round the world, and you were more vivid to me that anything on that ship. You are as necessary to me as the air I breathe."

He gave no reply, but after a moment or two, he made his way over to me and sat down. Once settled, he draped one arm over my shoulders. The bottle of rum from the _Medusa_ was wedged between our hips. "What's this?" he said, pulling it out.

"I had thought…some provisions," I mumbled.

He pulled the cork with his teeth, spat it out, and took a swig before passing the bottle to me. I tipped the bottle up to drink and he kissed the side of my head, remarking, "If we'd stayed on the ship, we'd likely be dead."

But this failed to lift my spirits. "I've made you lose your ship."

"Ah, well." He gave me a squeeze. "I'll tell ye me secret. I don't keep 'em long. I generally sink 'em after a few ventures-otherwise, the Royal Navy gets t' know what they look like, an' goes lookin' fer me."

I thought about this. "But you would never sink the _Pearl_, would you?"

"Nay, the _Pearl _be a different matter," he admitted. "When I win her back, I mean t' keep her."

I decided to ignore the implications of this for Jack. "Then she's bad luck for you."

He froze, and turned to me with an enigmatic, searching look, as though my remark had some particular meaning for him.

"That's how your enemies would find you," I explained. "They would know the _Pearl_. And Jack has enemies too. You don't know who might be hunting him down."

"I'll take me chances," Hector said stubbornly.

We sat for a while without talking, passing the bottle occasionally, but my thoughts belied the seemingly tranquil atmosphere. How long would it be until we were discovered by a ship, or floated ashore on some deserted beach? How long must the rum, the cheese and the bread last?

My chest tightened as I faced the worst possibility: what if we were never rescued? What if we drifted until thirst and starvation killed us?

"How long can we last out here?" I asked, voicing my thoughts.

Hector shrugged. "There be two or three days yet, where we can save ourselves."

I shivered. "And after that?"

It would be a frightful death-painful and lingering. We would know the end was coming long before-

Hector gave me an affectionate squeeze, rubbing his hand up and down my arm. "Ye needn't fret, little bird. If it should come t' that, I'll see that ye don't suffer. 'Tis the least I can do as a gentleman."

I rested my head on his chest, but his well-meant words drove a stab of horror clean through me. His meaning was clear, at least to me. If it became certain that we would starve to death, he was willing to shoot me, to give me a quick death and spare me the agony. I could scarce comprehend that our lives had dwindled down to a few days in a wooden boat.

Every muscle in my face strained with the effort of keeping my tears from falling, but I couldn't suppress one tell-tale gasp. I clutched his lapel.

"Courage, missus!" he said.

I pulled away from him and clasped my arms about my knees, bowing my head so he couldn't see my face. I gritted my teeth and tensed my muscles. "I need a moment," I said in a muffled voice.

He put one hand on my back.

"Don't!" I said quickly.

He withdrew his hand. "Be there somethin' ye ain't tellin' me?"

_Yes,_ l wanted to shout. _Yes, I'm expecting a baby and fear has me by the scruff of my neck like a terrier catches a rat. I want a life with you, I want this child, and instead, I think we're all about to die. _But I couldn't. I would spare him that much at least. Better that he never know.

I shook my head, _no_.

Hector cleared his throat. "Yer allowed t' cry, y' know," he offered.

"No I'm not." I refused to burden him in that way. I would be strong, no matter what. I banished my terror to the darkest, most distant corner of my mind and managed to compose myself. I turned to Hector. "I owe you an apology. We're in a fix that's all my doing, and I haven't a clue how to get out of it."

"Well, ye wouldn't, would ye?" he replied with some surprise. "But an old sea dog knows many a way t' cheat death." He took my elbow and pulled me back to him. "And ye were clever enough t' get him into the boat with ye."

I settled against his side, calmed and comforted by the warmth of his arm around me. "What shall we do then?"

He kissed the top of my head and began to smooth my hair. "'Tis nearly morning. That's when we take stock an' decide on the best plan." He spoke as if he were telling a bedtime story to a child who will not fall asleep, but it was exactly what my despairing spirits needed. I nestled my cheek against his chest and laid my hand softly on his waist.

"What do you think we should do?" I murmured drowsily.

"Well…" He hesitated, drawing out his answer. "When the fog's burnt off, I'm inclined t' run up our colours."

Something in his voice had changed. I looked up and saw a mischievous spark in his eye. "Our colours?"

"Aye. I'll be takin' yer shirt an' breeches, an' tying 'em to an oar."

I pushed myself away from him, indignant. "You would strip me naked and wave my clothes at passing ships?"

He tried to look offended, with widened eyes and lifted brow. "Nay, sweetheart-never!" Then he grinned. "I would strip ye naked, hide meself, an' let 'em see ye as nature made ye! We'll be picked up in a trice." He chuckled, relishing the success of his jest.

"Admit it – I stopped yer bawlin', didn't I?" he said. Then he reached out his hand and caressed my face as he leaned over to kiss me. "We ain't done for yet, sweetheart."

He gathered me in and I clung to him, a bird safe in her nest. I worked my arms under his coat so that I might be closer still, holding him tightly as I kissed his face, his whiskers, his mouth. We are so very close, I thought. He is closer to my heart now than ever before. I'm sure this is the time to tell him...

"Hector," I breathed gently. "Hector, my heart…I'm-"

Something struck the side of our boat with a dull but solid bump. We stared at each other for an instant, then scrambled to our feet.

Hector's long arm reached out through the fog, searching. "By the powers," he whispered in amazement. "Tis the side of a ship!"

I gasped with joy, but he hushed me. "Do y' hear anything?"

I listened. There was no sound. "No."

"An' not one light," he said, pondering the matter.

"Is she a caravel?" I asked in a small voice.

"Nay," he answered. "Hull's the wrong shape. My guess is, there be no one aboard her. She's a ghost ship."

But I was desperate. "Ghost ship or no, she's a _ship!_ She must have sails! And a rudder!"

He nodded his quick agreement. "Look fer anything ye can hold onto, so's we don't drift away!"

We quickly patted our hands along the ship's hull, reaching fore and aft as far as we could. I judged myself to be nearly amidships, when the tips of my fingers touched something. "Here!"

He was at my side in a heartbeat, and his longer reach was able to grasp something. "A line!" he said.

We braced ourselves in our boat as he pulled us closer to the unseen line. When we were near enough to get a look at it, I drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, no."

A black rope ladder was hanging from the mysterious ship's deck. A Jacob's ladder. I ran my palms over its wooden rungs. I knew this ladder. We had left it in this state not four days ago. My courage wavered.

"There is no one on this ship, Hector," I whispered.

Of all the benighted ships in the oceans of the world, we had collided with the _Berwick_.

A look of recognition passed between us, and he laughed. "So 'tis the devil or the deep blue sea, eh?" he said. "Well, I'm minded t' ship with the devil just now." He seized my hand and put it on the rope. "Hold fast," he ordered me. "An' wait fer me t' summon ye."

"Aye, Captain."

He drew his sword and, true pirate that he was, held it between his teeth. He began to climb, until the fog hid him from my sight. Then he must have stepped onto the _Berwick's_ deck, because the rope ladder became motionless and idle in my hand. I was well and truly alone now. I clutched the ladder with both hands, and waited.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 22 – The Spectre Bark** – Nina gains a greater understanding and appreciation of Hector.


	22. The Spectre Barque

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters, plots and story elements are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**The Spectre Barque**

As the minutes ticked by, my fingers cramped and my arms grew heavy from the effort of clutching the ladder. Yet if I released it for even an instant the boat would drift away in the fog, and I would be lost. The strain on my muscles began to make them burn, and I glanced about for some way to tie the boat to the _Berwick's_ ladder. The only rope in our boat lay coiled in the bow, too far for me to reach without letting go of the ladder. I strained my ears hoping to hear the thump of Hector's boots returning to the gangway, but there was no sound from the ship.

My head began to droop, and my gaze rested absently on the narrow scarf I always wore tied at my waist. Tia Dalma's silken spancel! I gave a little gasp of relief-this was better than any ordinary rope, having the power to bind things together with magic. With one hand I untied the spancel, then looped it about one of the ladder's steps and knotted it tightly around the nearest oarlock.

With the boat thus secured, I sat down and rubbed my arms. Something was pressed against my boot, and my spirits instantly sank as I realised I had nearly trod on the golden tablet.

My promises to Maroto weighed upon my heart like a stone slab, and I reproached myself for my shortcomings. I should have gone back to the island when he asked. I should not have confided in Hector. I should have made sure the map was destroyed. Maroto had been wrong to place his faith in me, and he had paid with his life.

I stared at the tablet, wondering why I seemed to balk at every chance to destroy it. I was letting Maroto down even at this very moment by not heaving it into the sea. Why not do it now, when Hector couldn't stop me?

But I had chosen to tell Hector about the map because I wanted no secrets between us. I had made him my partner in this venture. I was determined to persuade him that the Fountain was a cheat and a danger to all mankind. Then we would destroy the map-together.

I eyed the tablet uneasily. Until I was satisfied that Hector agreed with my purpose, I decided that the best course of action was to keep it with me. Sliding it under my shirt, I winced at the sting of its cold surface against my skin, and folded my arms across my chest. I muttered a few words to Maroto's ghost, wherever he might be. "I won't let you down this time, Padre. And once the map is gone, I promise to find Ponce de Leon and get that sword away from him." I sighed. "Somehow…"

Just then there was movement on the ladder, making the boat bump awkwardly against the _Berwick_. Hector's boots appeared on the rungs as he climbed down. He descended halfway, then looked about and spied me sitting nearby.

"Not a soul on her," he said. "She's safe t' board. Where be the map?" He surveyed the boat.

"I have it," I patted my shirt. "Let's be off then."

I followed him up the ladder, stopping to untie the spancel. By the time I had climbed three rungs higher, the _Medusa's_ boat had already floated away into the fog.

-o-

Under the circumstances, it was a relief to board any sort of ship, even one whose former crew had suffered a sinister and unexplained fate. The _Berwick_ was our best chance for survival, and my faith in Hector's seamanship was absolute. When I stepped onto the deck, he was already holding the sounding line. I stood behind him while he swung its lead weight and threw it into the sea, and we counted out the fathoms together. At last he shook his head.

"Too deep fer a proper anchor," he said. "We'll make a sea anchor-bind up a sail and let it drag behind the ship."

This would keep the _Berwick_ more or less in the same area, but I was tiring. "It seems a deal of trouble. The seas are quite calm here."

He frowned. "Aye, there be no rough seas nor sharp rocks t' trouble us, but the one thing ye don't want is t' drift in the fog from a place that's safe to a place that ain't."

I nodded, but was seized by a sudden notion that our marriage was not unlike the _Berwick_—no rough seas or sharp rocks, as long as I kept to matters on which we agreed. What would happen when I brought up the map?

We tied a spare sail into a funnel, secured it to a long line, and let it down into the water. As we watched the line grow taut, I noticed that the sun was brightening; morning was burning off the fog.

Hector glanced at the sky. "'Tis clearin' now. I need a quadrant t' sight the sun. Likely we'll find one in the captain's quarters."

We made our way there and found it in the same state of disarray as on our previous visit. Although the scattered papers had been removed by Jeremy, the ransacked cupboards and slashed mattress still bore witness to his crew's mutiny.

Hector made for the ship's charts, but I stopped him. "First let me see your head."

This seemed to amuse him, but he paused and allowed me to remove his hat. Just under his headscarf was a thick ridge of dried blood surrounded by a swollen purple bruise. I winced at the sight. Perhaps he feared I would coddle him, for he pulled back, yanking his headscarf down. "Now ye've seen it. Time we got t' work." He resumed organising the charts, and I started searching for navigational tools.

Once I located the brass quadrant, Hector went on deck to take the measurements that would tell us our latitude. Leaving the navigation in his hands, I set myself to tidy the rest of the cabin.

I had just finished smoothing what remained of the mattress and securing it with extra bedsheets, when I glanced at the floor and spied a bit of paper caught under the edge of a cupboard.

Pulling it out, I saw a few words written in Jeremy's hand. It must have come from one of his letters. I crumpled it and dropped it into my pocket, feeling as though an unwelcome guest had surprised me.

I hated to think of how Jeremy had triumphed over me so easily. I had been warned against him long ago. I knew he was a dangerous man, fond of exploiting his opponent's weakness.

What was the weakness in me that allowed him to blind me to his true purpose?

I sighed at the obvious answer: he had discovered my high regard for the Messenger Service. I thought it could do no wrong. I was honoured to be part of such an elite corps.

Set on proving my worth, I had accepted everything Jeremy said without question. Why should he deceive me? Were we not both servants of the Crown?

Trusting and unwary, I hadn't seen him for what he was. I hadn't seen the tiger in the tall grass, watching me.

Hector had been wiser. He was sceptical of Jeremy's intentions from the start, and had wanted to examine my orders. And I had been too insulted to oblige him.

How easily Jeremy had divided us! No doubt he hoped that the dancing woman would be the final straw, and he was almost right. But he hadn't reckoned on Hector's tenacity.

After I broke with him, Hector had worked to reclaim my heart, and I loved him for it. Loved him beyond what I had thought possible. And now at last we were free of Jeremy. Only one problem remained. I touched its smooth, icy edge, resting uncomfortably against my ribs. If only I could be sure that Hector wanted me more than the golden tablet.

I looked for a place to hide it, and my eye fell upon the torn mattress. I hurriedly tucked the tablet safely beneath it.

The rattle of the door latch made me jump.

Hector entered and approached the chart table. "What ails ye?" he asked, giving me an odd look.

"Nothing. Only…you startled me." I moved towards the chart table.

"Who were ye expectin'?" he said with a wry smile. He began calculating our position, leaning over the table as he worked.

"I thought we might check the ship's stores and see what there is to eat," I said, but he shook his head.

"Later." He wrote some numbers on the chart and I watched him work, thinking how handsome and capable he looked. When he finished, he straightened himself and turned to me.

"We'll set a course due west," he said. "If the weather holds, I'll sight the angle o' the stars at twilight. After that, I'll be wantin' victuals" -he traced my throat with his fingers- "an' some time with me missus." He grasped me by the shoulders and kissed me, then held me off with a grin. "Now let's see how well she sails."

-o-

A ship that is not being steered will naturally turn into the wind until the air spills from her sails and she stops moving. With no pressure on the sail, it is light work to set it, and so we unfurled the _Berwick's_ foresail and set it with ease. I looked at it doubtfully as it sagged, airless, over the bowsprit.

"We'll catch the wind when I turn the ship," Hector assured me. We heaved up our improvised anchor, and he took the wheel. He put the rudder over and coaxed the ship to turn just a little bit. The wind was light, but gradually our ship began to answer to the helm, and at last the sail flapped promisingly.

He called out a few instructions to me and I adjusted the lines, as the sail came under more pressure from the wind. When the canvas filled and stretched, and the _Berwick_ gained headway, I felt a great surge of happiness. We had done this together, Hector and I. Surely we must be destined to face life the same way.

He steered the _Berwick_ for more than an hour, then handed the wheel to me. "Tell me when ye've had enough, an' I'll take her back," he said.

I stepped in front of him and grasped the wheel handles. "Do you remember the day you let me steer the _Pearl_? You stood so close behind me it was a wonder I didn't instantly succumb to you."

He pressed against my back, his arms wrapped about my waist. "Hold her steady," he murmured, his whiskers tickling my ear. "This be what I wanted t' do that day." Then he began kissing and nuzzling the crook of my neck and caressing my breasts in a way that was sure to lead to trouble. I leaned against him and almost let go the wheel.

"Steady, I said!" he scolded me. "If ye lose the wind, I'll make ye get out an' push!"

I laughed and corrected our course. "Apologies, my love. But I claim the same liberties when you take the wheel again! I shall see how well you do!"

"When I take the wheel again? Who says I'm not keepin' ye here 'til we make land?"

As the afternoon wore on, we continued to banter and sport with each other in similar fashion, our spirits growing lighter by the hour. I was very reluctant to leave him as the sun began to set, but I needed to find victuals to supply our dinner. At last, with a deep, lingering kiss, I went below and left him at the wheel.

-o-

The_ Berwick's_ stores yielded much that should have been spoilt, but was somehow as fresh as the day it had been brought to the ship. An air of enchantment hung heavily in the galley, but whether it was for good or evil I couldn't say. I concocted a savoury pie that chiefly featured potatoes and root vegetables, and found a wheel of cheese and some apples, though sadly not green ones. Jack had taken the rum, but we were well supplied with brandy, and I set out several bottles on the table.

When all was ready, I notified my captain. Setting out our sea anchor once more, we returned to the captain's quarters. He smiled at the humble fare I had assembled, and we quickly took our seats and fell to eating. I was weighing how to approach the subject of the map when he brought it up himself towards the end of our meal.

"One more swig," he said, pouring out more brandy, "an' I'll sight the stars with that quadrant." He paused. "The map we took were a map o' the heavens-bring it out an' let me have a look at it."

"Why?" I asked without looking up from my plate. "We're not bound for the Fountain of Youth."

"I fancy a look nonetheless," he said impatiently. "Where'd ye hide it?"

I carefully pushed my plate back, then extended my upturned hands to him. He clasped them in a way that made me think of true lovers knots tied across the table.

"It's safe for now," I said. "But I made a promise to destroy it."

"We can destroy it later," he argued. "Afterwards."

"Afterwards?" I repeated. "After you perform the ritual and steal another man's life? Are you truly that sort of robber? The Fountain won't let you go-'afterwards' will be too late. You'll always need the next ritual, the next victim."

He scowled. "I was cursed by Cortés' gold, an' yet here I stand. And ye got all this from Maroto-who lied to ye."

"He didn't-"

"Then where be Ponce de Leon?" he retorted. "Didn't Maroto say he'd be nearby? What other lies did he tell ye?"

I released his hands. "I won't give you the map. You may not care a louse, but I do." I stood up and began pacing about the cabin. "Do you know my deepest fear? It's that you will be cursed and this time there will be no way back for you-none! It won't be like Cortés' gold. Tia Dalma isn't here to put things right. You'll be another sort of creature afterwards-a vampire whose life comes from the deaths of others!"

He made no reply, but his mouth twisted down at the corners and he looked very displeased indeed.

I nearly trembled as I waited. Until I had put my fear into words, I had not really thought what it would do to me to lose Hector in that way. It was all I could do to maintain my composure.

After what seemed an eternity, he yawned and stretched. "Well, if ye won't give it t' me, there's naught t' be said, is there?" He put his hat on the table and rose from his chair. "'Tis time I had a bit o' rest." He managed a tight smile at me, and laid himself down in the captain's berth.

My throat became dry as I watched him, hoping he wouldn't feel anything odd under the mattress. Too late, I realised what an absurd hiding place I had chosen. I settled into my chair and waited for him to fall asleep.

After some time, his breathing changed and I guessed that he was sleeping. I called his name several times, first softly, then a bit louder. The only response from Hector was a steady snore.

I rose quietly and crept over to the berth. And waited.

I inhaled and held my breath as I made my hand as flat as possible and slid it under the mattress. A moment later I located the tablet, pinched it between my fingers, and began to work it stealthily towards me. At that moment, I happened to raise my eyes.

Hector was watching me.

I jumped back with the tablet in hand as he lunged for my wrist.

"I knew ye'd go to it the moment ye thought me asleep," he declared. "What d' ye take me for anyways?"

Anger flamed in my chest. "I take you for what you are-a trickster and deceiver!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Fine words from a wench who's keepin' the map fer herself!"

My jaw dropped. "Is that what you think? I hid it to protect you. You're the one always looking for gain! You, and Jack-and Jeremy too! No matter what I do, by the powers, you're hell-bent on dooming yourself!"

He reached for the tablet.

"Not one step closer!" I cried, my back against the door.

"Or what?" he growled.

I sprinted from the cabin and he chased me to the railing. His hands seized my shoulders and he spun me to face him. I lost my grip on the tablet. It skated across the deck and we both dove for it. But we were too late-it had gone over the edge of the gangway, and disappeared beneath the sea.

For a moment, the shock of it all paralysed us both. We lay on the deck, staring at the spot where the tablet had fallen from the ship. Inwardly I still burned with anger, and it was now tinged with a fierce exultation because the tablet was lost forever. Then I looked at Hector.

He glared at me, as angry as the day he had threatened my life twelve years ago. "I swear to ye," he said, moving close and emphasising his words with an admonitory finger under my nose, "ye won't keep me from the Fountain. I'll stand there with or without ye! I'll stand there if I have t' kill Jack Sparrow and take Sao Feng's map." He glared for a moment as if he'd like to throttle me, then stomped off to the cabin.

I was so shaken I could barely breathe. All my limbs seemed frozen, and I remained where I was until the cabin door slammed behind him. Then I staggered to my feet and leaned on the railing as I stared across the water and tried to collect my wits.

Perhaps it was all for the best. I had my answer now-he had never valued me more than the tablet. And although the tablet was beyond our reach, there would always be a new treasure, a new scheme that would mean more to him. At least I knew where I stood.

All my emotions, good and bad, had drained away like a well running dry. I was surprised at how calm I felt until I realised I wasn't calm-I was deadened. I debated whether to join him, and at last made my way to the cabin, walking like a mourner in a funeral procession.

-o-

He was abed when I entered, lying on his side with eyes closed, but I knew he wasn't asleep. Though I was no longer fearful for my safety, I could not bring myself to get into the bed or even draw near him. I settled myself in a chair.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and surveyed me with an unfriendly expression. "So be yer promises fulfilled now?" he asked. "Or should I expect more?"

I studied my hands before answering, and decided that I may as well tell him all. "Maroto wanted me to stop Ponce de Leon and destroy the Fountain. He told me everything when we were waiting for you in the cave." I looked up to see if he had heard enough.

"Go on," he said.

"Ponce de Leon can't be killed, but he'll die if he's kept away from the Fountain. His time will run out and he won't be able to perform the ritual. He sails his ship with something called the Sword of Triton – that's why he doesn't need a crew. No sword, no way to sail the ship. No way to sail the ship, no way to get to the Fountain. I was to ask him for the sword. Maroto was convinced he would give it up."

Barbossa looked thoughtful. "The Sword o' Triton, ye say?"

Of course, I thought. Another treasure. "It hardly matters," I shrugged. "Who knows where to find Ponce de Leon? Perhaps it really was just a tale. I certainly can't find him."

Hector seemed about to speak, but I put an end to our discussion.

"I think I've had enough of this mission." I propped my feet on another chair and slumped down, my hands folded across my stomach. "Pleasant dreams," I said as I closed my eyes.

I dozed fitfully in my makeshift berth, waking several times from vaguely alarming dreams that I could never quite recall.

Each time I woke, I heard Hector snoring, but the fourth time, I also heard a footstep on deck that frightened me so badly I was fully alert at once, though my eyes were still shut. There was another step, and the cabin door opened softly. Keeping perfectly still, I slowly opened my eyes, just enough to see.

Then I sat up, holding my breath as my eyes slowly widened.

A very aged man was standing in the doorway, leaning on a pike, and dressed in the armour of a bygone era. His dark eyebrows creased together under the peak of an old fashioned _morion_ helmet, and his face was gaunt, with deep furrows in his forehead and a generally pale and wasted appearance. He wore the breastplate of a foot soldier from the days of the Spanish explorers, and regarded me with a mournful expression in his brown eyes. He seemed almost embarrassed to find himself here. Motionless, we gazed at each other for what seemed a very long time. Then I rose from my chair and spoke to him in a whisper.

"Maroto? Is that you?"

* * *

**Next: Parley** – A meeting of two captains.


	23. Parley

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**Parley**

I stared at Maroto, dumbfounded by his appearance-so obviously alive and yet so changed! I heard a quick movement from the berth and turned to find Hector on his feet, aiming his pistol at Maroto.

"Well, if it ain't the Padre!" he said, in tones he usually reserved for Jack's name. "I heard ye was dead."

I glared at Maroto. "You let me mourn your death, and all the while you were shamming! You owe me some answers."

"Forgive me," he said. "I could not do otherwise. Please believe that I come as a friend. And that…" he gestured towards Hector's weapon "…is not sufficient, in any case." He paused, then revealed the extraordinary truth. "Like my uncle Juan, I can die, but I cannot be killed."

I felt the blood leave my face as I took in the implication of his words. "You've been to the Fountain," I murmured.

"Well? What d' ye have t' say fer yerself?" Hector's voice was a dangerous growl.

Maroto spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "The stolen years keep us alive. We have no choice. Towards the end, our strength fades and we age. But we endure. Once my body had recovered from the loss of blood, my senses returned, and I joined my uncle on the _Santiago_. He was already chasing the _Medusa_."

"So what d' ye want with us?" Hector's eyes narrowed. "If it be the map yer after, ye've come up empty. It's gone to the bottom."

"It's not that simple." Maroto took a step forward and removed his helmet. He gave me a pleading look. "I need your help to free my uncle from the Fountain's power."

Hector gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "So you an' yer uncle want t' give up eternal youth."

Maroto looked down for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he raised his eyes, he said simply, "I have lived a quarter of a millennium, longer than any man should. I made my peace with death long ago. " He extended his hand. "Señora? Will you come with me?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm the Captain's partner and wife, Padre. It's both of us or neither one-and we'll have the truth from you first. Whatever you've kept back, now is the time to tell it."

Maroto studied our faces with his dark, sad eyes. Then his shoulders drooped and he nodded. "You are right." He approached the table with an unsteady gait, and seated himself wearily.

"You see before you the last living member of the _Santiago's_ crew. There are no more. I sailed with my uncle in 1521, on his final voyage. I took part in everything-the theft of the chalices, the capture of the victims, the torture of the mermaids by which we acquired their tears."

Cold horror began to creep over me. It was one thing to read of these exploits in the old journal, but quite another to find myself face to face with a living participant.

"I have seen the Fountain consume its victims," he said. "And felt the rapture of new life flooding through my veins. I thought to enjoy the years I had stolen and, when they ran out, to die a contented man."

He paused and his mouth curved into a wry smile. "But we hadn't understood the Ritual. The Fountain traps all who drink from the chalices-one is destroyed, and the other becomes its servant. We thirsted endlessly for the Elixir, tormented by fears that we would lose our way back to the Fountain or find it had run dry."

I stole a look at Hector and thought it would break my heart if this proud man were to become the Fountain's minion. Did he understand what was at stake? His expression was unchanged, but he stared intently at the white-haired Padre.

"I vowed to save my uncle," Maroto went on, "I have spent more than a lifetime hunting for his journals and seeking a way to free him. If he is persuaded to give away the Sword of Triton, he will have no way to sail back to that evil place."

Hector considered this with a glint in his half-closed eyes. "The Sword o' Triton, ye say? That calls the wind an' makes lifeless matter do yer bidding?"

Our visitor nodded. "Its powers are greatest when it is on a ship." He looked meekly at Hector. "Doubt me if you wish. But you have only to board the _Santiago _to find the truth. Observe my uncle. You will see what he has become."

But Hector scoffed at this proposal. "And I'm supposed t' believe that Ponce de Leon will let us board his ship an' take his sword."

Maroto tightened his mouth, then sighed. "I promised you honest answers. So be it. He knows nothing of my plan to take the Sword. I must bring you to him and hope that fate gives us a chance to act. As for why he will let you board the Santiago, the reason is simple: the Fountain's effect is wearing off." He stared at us sadly. "The time for another sacrifice is near."

We sat in shocked silence, until Hector said, "So that's it. Two of us-one fer you, one fer him." He jerked his chin towards the door. "Outside, Padre. I'll give ye my decision after a word with me missus."

"It's too dangerous," I said after Maroto had left. "You said yourself we can't trust him. It's a trap."

Hector lounged in his chair, propping himself on one elbow. His narrowed eyes gazed at nothing while he thought, and I had the feeling he hadn't heard my warning at all. Finally he darted a sharp look my way. "Can ye get the sword?" he asked point blank.

I opened my mouth but no words came out. He was actually contemplating Maroto's proposal! I looked at the floor and tried to think. If Maroto were telling the truth-and I searched every corner of my heart to find a grain of trust in him-then Hector would see what effect the Fountain had on Ponce de Leon. It might be the only way to stop him seeking those malevolent waters. He must reckon that if eternal youth could not be his, he would make prize of the sword instead: that was the reason for his question.

My heart gave a little jump as I realised something else: for the first time, Hector was treating me as his colleague rather than his subordinate. He thought my skills were up to the task; but he also respected me enough to ask my opinion. A feeling of confidence warmed me as I met his gaze. "Yes," I told him. "Yes, love. I can do it."

He reached the door with two strides of his long legs and threw it open. "Padre!" he said, and Maroto stepped forward.

"We're agreed as t' terms," Hector informed him. We started forward, but Maroto held up his hand.

"You must leave your weapons."

Hector narrowed his eyes. "Thought ye said ye couldn't be killed?"

"It is not for me," he replied, "but for your own safety. My uncle wields a magic sword, and the years have tested his powers of reason. Your weapons may…agitate him."

"All the more reason I'll be keeping 'em on me," Hector said with a grim smile.

I gave him a sidelong look. "But they're no use to us." I laid my pistols and scimitar on the chart table. After an instant's hesitation, Hector followed suit. I stared at the pile of weapons and a nervous tremor danced across my skin at the chance I was taking.

We filed out of the cabin; Maroto first, Hector next, and myself last. As I stepped on deck, Hector stopped so abruptly that I collided with him.

"By all the powers…" he murmured, and we stared at what lay before us.

A fine ship of antique design was tied up alongside the _Berwick_. She was slightly larger, with lovely curved lines that dipped low amidships and then rose gracefully to the small quarterdeck. I heard the gentle flap of the long, old-fashioned pennants flying from her masthead, but when I lifted my gaze to her rigging I knew what sort of ship she was. Her main and mizzen masts carried the largest lateen sails I had ever seen, and each one bore the jagged _Cruz de Borgoña_, the ensign of the Spanish king who had reigned two centuries ago.

Maroto nodded towards the ship. "Let me be the first to welcome you aboard the _Santiago_, my friends."

….

Maroto escorted us to the _Santiago's_ great cabin where he left us while he fetched his uncle.

Hector's eyes grew wide as he stared at the opulence that surrounded us. "Be this Ponce de Leon's quarters or Ali Baba's treasure cave?" he murmured.

Not since I had ventured to Isla de Muerta had I seen so much treasure in one place. The room twinkled and glinted as my eyes strayed across masses of gold and silver figurines, precious beads, and bowls filled with priceless gems and pearls. The soft candlelight flickered with a gentle, hypnotic pulse that made me feel drowsy and distracted.

At one end of this treasure-house stood a gilded bed with hangings and coverlet fashioned from cloth-of-gold. A human skull and two crossed bones were fixed at the top of the headboard, and I wondered why any man would deface his magnificent bed with such a grisly reminder of mortality.

Hector nudged me. "Look there," he said, in a voice reverent as a priest's.

I peered about anxiously and finally saw what had stirred such awe in him – a tall hourglass made of gold with one of its columns representing the Grim Reaper. I looked closer and saw that instead of sand, it had been filled with flakes of pure gold. The top was engraved with a Latin phrase: _Nihil Permanere Sub Sole._

"Nothing under the sun endures," I translated. "Well, it seems they've put the lie to that."

Just then, Maroto opened the door. "_El Marquis Don Juan Ponce de Leon_," he announced.

A rather skeletal man entered with uncertain, shuffling steps, his frail shoulders stooped with age. He wore dark breeches and tall leather boots with a yellow doublet that would have been fashionable centuries ago. His flat-brimmed hat was adorned with a red, spiral-curled ostrich feather, and he carried a strangely shaped sword which I guessed was the Sword of Triton.

Hector's gaze instantly fixed on the sword.

_"Permítanme presentarles Capitán Barbossa y Señora Bitter,"_ said Maroto, pausing awkwardly for a moment before adding, _"… su esposa."_

We bowed graciously. "Marquis," murmured Hector, as though the very word were an incantation.

_"Mucho gusto,"_ I said.

Ponce de Leon gave us an owlish, uncertain look. He had a long face not unlike Maroto's, and its shape was emphasised by his closely-trimmed beard, which made a double point at his chin. _"Encantada,"_ he said in a dusty voice.

Time had left its cruel stamp on him. His skin was the colour and texture of melted wax, but so thin that you could make out the bones that lay beneath it. There was a slight tremor in his hand as he waved us towards two heavily carved chairs.

Not much remained of the legendary soldier and explorer. I remembered Maroto's insistence that he had been a good man-but how I was expected to claim this sword? I glanced doubtfully at Maroto.

He shook his head very slightly, then addressed his uncle. "Capitan Barbossa says that the map has fallen into the sea and cannot be recovered."

The old conquistador surveyed all three of us in silence, turning his head slowly as if he hadn't heard or understood. Again I was reminded of an owl. Something was clearly amiss with him, and I began to wonder whether his mental faculties were no more robust than his body.

"_Gracias a Dios_," he muttered at last. "Now it cannot be found." Then his eyes brightened as he focused on me. "But how fortunate no harm came to you, my dear, young woman," his cracked lips widened into a smile. "You have many years of life still ahead of you, no? We don't often have the pleasure of…of guests so young."

"You flatter me, sir," I said, wishing he would look elsewhere. His eyes regarded me as if I were the Christmas goose, and it was a relief when he turned and greeted Hector.

"Bienvenido, Capitan," he said. "I am delighted to offer our hospitality. We will do our best to see that you eat well, sleep well, and enjoy your time on my ship. We don't have many guests…" Then he leaned to one side and Maroto bent down to catch the whispered question. "_Qué edad crees que es?_"[1]

"_No se,"_ replied Maroto under his breath.

With a shock I realised how the famed explorer craved the life in both of us. I darted a glance at Hector. Had he understood what they said?

"My compliments on your good health, Capitan," said our host. "I perceive you come from strong stock, and will have a long life."

"Thank ye, sire," Hector purred as I tried not to roll my eyes. "And thank ye for takin' us from the driftin' wreck where we was stranded. Might I ask where yer bound?"

"We sail for a safe harbour, where you can repair your ship and perhaps find a crew," he replied.

"Speakin' of which," Hector went on smoothly, "where be yer crew?"

The old man's wits seemed to wander for a bit, but then he looked at us slyly as though deciding whether to share a treat. "I have a sword." He cackled as he patted its hilt. "I no longer need a crew to sail my ship."

"So ye rid yerself of 'em? How'd ye manage that?"

"I marooned them. Except for him." He blinked at Maroto, then his eyes wandered to the skull and crossbones above his bed. "And that one. Can you guess who he is?"

Hector's half-closed, lynx-like eyes made his expression unreadable. "Some foe ye conquered?"

"He is Diego Miruelo. Sent to spy on me by the son of Cristóbal Colón! But he was the first man I sacrificed at the Fountain. Now he can spy on me as I sleep." He gave a gleeful cackle.

Hector answered with a smile that seemed forced; but my eyes remained on the skull as Ponce de Leon explained how he had condemned his men to death.

"We careened the _Santiago_ on a deserted island," he said, "and I sent them ashore to rest. Then I righted the ship by means of the sword, and left them to die. You see," he tapped his forehead and his eyes twinkled, "I am still clever! And after all, the only thing that matters is…the Fountain."

"Many a man would give his soul to find it," Hector remarked with a nod. I was mute, frozen in my chair. Was Hector speaking of himself? I held my breath.

"I would not be surprised if you were among them," Ponce de Leon laughed. "Conquistador and pirate are much the same, my friend: men of courage, ruthlessly seeking riches and glory…" his smile faded as his attention seemed to drift.

"An' masters of their own fate, answerin' t' no one," Hector added. He smiled and inclined his chin, but I now feared this meeting was a terrible mistake. What if pirate and explorer truly were alike? What if Hector was inspired rather than discouraged by the conquistador's exploits?

"Master of your own fate." Maroto's uncle seemed wistful. "As you are, so I was…once… But what could I do?" he muttered, as if to himself. "It demands to be served. All else is a shadow." He looked at us nervously and tapped his index finger on the table for emphasis. "One must always be thinking ahead, you see. Planning. _La oportunidad te llega__**[2]**__,_ and you must be ready. One prepares, and beseeches heaven that the water is still flowing."

Then he looked about him at the cabin, bursting with treasure of every kind. "But the world fades. Time passes."

His shoulders slumped. "In a sense, I am marooned also."

_Only give me the sword and let me free you,_ I thought, but could not bring myself to ask for fear of him refusing. Everyone kept silent, and my unspoken question hung over me like another famous sword-the Sword of Damocles.

I began to stammer something, but he interrupted. "Forgive me, _mi vida_. I am weary. You will be my guests at dinner tonight."

And on that abrupt note, he ended our conversation.

…

We followed Maroto to a smaller cabin which was filled with nearly as much treasure as the captain's quarters. Here we were invited to relax and refresh ourselves until dinner.

Once out of Ponce de Leon's presence, exhaustion swept over me. I craved sleep, and yet I could do no more than stare at the welcoming bed, unable to summon the will to lie down.

Hector had been moving about the cabin inspecting the piles of gold, silks, beads and other trinkets, but after a few moments, he came up behind me and slid his arms about my ribs. He held me close, rocking my slightly, then he cleared his throat and put his lips close to my ear. "I may have spoke a bit rough t' ye," he conceded, his breath stirring my hair.

He rested his chin on the crown of my head for a moment and sighed. "If truth be told, I find meself less inclined t' the Fountain now. 'Tis no different than Cortes' gold. Fer ten long years my fate was not in me own hands. But by the powers, I be of sound mind and me own master now, and damned if I'll be cheated of that. Ye needn't fret anymore about the Fountain."

At this, I swallowed and closed my eyes to hide tears of relief. I leaned back against him, feeling lighter than air and resting my arms upon his.

"You spoke in the heat of the moment," I said, rubbing the back of his hand. He was not perfect, nor would ever be. But my heart and soul belonged to him, and I found I could forgive a great deal. "I know what prizes mean to pirates, and this one is unique." I shrugged. "Why wouldn't you want to live forever?"

He turned me to face him and peered into my eyes. "Ye think 'twas naught but a prize I wanted?" He tipped my chin up with his fingers, and gave me a long, gentle kiss. I quickly wiped the outer corner of my eye, lest he think he had made me cry.

"Come here," he said. He draped a protective arm about my shoulders and drew me onto the bed. We lay on our sides, facing each other. "Me race be all but run, sweetheart. What's wrong with a gentleman fancyin' a bit more time with his lady?"

"Nothing, my heart," I said, a lump in my throat. "But not like this. It's better to make the most of each day we have. And I would be your constant companion, only I fear you'd grow bored of me."

He chuckled and scooped me closer to him. "If only ye knew how unlikely that be…"

His nearness and warmth began to awaken my desire for him, and I sighed deeply as he kissed me. The soft weight of his lips pressing against mine made me long for more intimate pleasures, which my fingers begged from him by many little strokes and encouragements delivered first to his thighs and eventually to that firm and upright part of him that was the source of my greatest joys. His clothes were off in an instant, and my pulse quickened as he helped me out of mine.

He rolled me onto my back, propped himself on one elbow, then let his eyes wander over me as he caressed me slowly with his other hand. A delicious languor stole over me, and at the same time his touch brought me glowingly alive each time he brushed his rough palms gently across my skin. As these precious preliminaries continued, I groaned and marvelled at how he could tease out my passions so adeptly, making me utterly forgetful of my weary state. At last our desires reached such a pitch that we could delay the ultimate act of enjoyment no longer. He mounted my willing body, bringing all his animal passion to bear on our ardent coupling. For the first time since the night we had found the tablet, we were together again, our hearts beating as one, our bodies united in the ecstasy of perfect fulfilment.

After we had exhausted our conjugal delights, he tucked me close to his side and I laid my hand upon his chest. "Rest yer head, little bird," he said. "Ye'll want yer wits about ye tonight so's ye can talk him out o' that sword."

Just before I settled into sleep, he voiced a question. "Be there anything ye ain't tellin' me?" he asked as he stroked my hair.

"No, love, of course not," I lied, guiltily and unforgivably. Then I dozed off, promising myself that I would tell him of his impending fatherhood as soon as we had the Sword of Triton in our possession. Perhaps then he could forgive all my lies, but somehow I doubted it.

…

When we entered the captain's quarters that evening, I was enchanted to hear soft, elegant music that made me think of a stately procession. The sounds came from several instruments in a shadowy corner which seemed to play without human agency.

Ponce de Leon was pleased by my reaction. "All I must do is touch the Sword of Triton and conjure it to do my will. Tonight I wish us to enjoy a fine dinner, and hear the music of my youth." He smiled graciously, adding, "We shall pretend, if you will indulge me. Tonight, all shall be as it was in my time."

As we ate, he spoke enthusiastically of the past-the year 1521, to be exact. "When I first drank the elixir of life, your king was named Henry, and he was married to the fair Katarina. Our countries were allies!"

Hector smiled rather sourly, but managed to join in a toast to this happy state of affairs.

"And how did you learn of the Ritual?" I asked.

"A sorceress told me," he said. "I found her in an eastern province of Cuba." I nearly choked, and quickly put down my fork to avoid dropping it, but Ponce de Leon was too wrapped up in his tale to notice.

"By the time I stood at the foot of the mythical Fountain," he said, "the king who had sent me was dead. But I had my warrant, my ships, and everything required for the Ritual." Turning to Maroto he added, "Bring the chest to me. I want to show them."

Maroto produced a small wooden chest with silver mounts. Its lid was almost completely obscured by a large plaque depicting two chalices. Ponce de Leon opened it and set the two chalices on the table. They were identical in all respects save the words engraved on them. One was inscribed with the word Aqua, the other bore the words De Vida. "Which do you like best?" he asked me playfully. "Which would you choose to drink from?"

"They look Roman," I exclaimed to distract him. "How did they come to be inscribed in Spanish?"

"That was my doing," he said, adding with a chuckle, "You should drink from this one"-he held up the chalice marked De Vida-"because I call you_ 'mi vida'_!" His joke turned my face scarlet, which amused him all the more. Hector watched as keenly as a hawk, but said nothing.

"But before I went to the Fountain, I visited Whitecap Bay and obtained the tears of a mermaid. One tear for each sacrifice." His tone was neutral, reasonable. A scientist reciting a formula.

Maroto had kept very silent, and I began to wonder whether he was still our ally. Could he resist the Fountain when his uncle could not? Two of us, two of them… I shivered and kept my eyes down.

"Ye need more than the mermaid's tear, do ye not?" Hector asked. "What about victims?"

"I have my victims," he replied.

Before we could react, he put his hand on the sword's hilt, and several things happened at once. There was a series of noises outside the cabin, and Hector leapt to his feet, furious. "Ye've cast off the _Berwick_!"

Maroto began to stand, but Ponce de Leon stopped him. "You will not interfere, _sobrino_."

Then the aged conquistador turned to us. "I am dying," he said. "Only the Elixir will keep me alive and restore my happiness. But I have no wish to harm you. You will remain my guests until we reach the Fountain."

Hector took an angry step, but I caught his eye with a barely perceptible shake of my head. A fight would only result in Ponce de Leon chaining us in the brig. There would be more chances to get the sword if we appeared to acquiesce. "You are most gracious to your captives, _señor_," I murmured.

Ponce de Leon sighed, but whatever shame he felt did not change his mind. _"Lo siento, señora_," he said. "It is what it is."

….

**Next: Chapter 24 – Bandari** – Nina makes a proposal.

* * *

[1] "How old do you think he is?"

"I don't know."

[2] Opportunity comes to you


	24. Bandari

**Disclaimer: ** I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 24**

**Bandari**

Late that night I sat on our berth racking my brain for a way to get at the Sword of Triton. Hector slowly paced the room, a dangerous lion in a cramped cage. I could sense the intensity of his mood and it strained my nerves to the breaking point. At last I abandoned my efforts.

Twisting my fingers together, I said: "Why must I be the one to get the sword from him? I don't know how to ask for it. What reason could I possibly give?"

"That be the least o' yer worries," Hector replied. "Supposin' ye get it away from him. We can't stay on the _Santiago_, so what's to do next? Jump ship an' fly away?" He shook his head. "Without the _Berwick_, we may already be as good as dead."

I closed my eyes for a moment to suppress a little frisson of panic. "Then we should devise a way to save ourselves," I said. "Let Ponce de Leon keep his damned sword."

Hector stopped pacing and made a half turn towards me. There was a long pause while he regarded me out of the corner of his eyes. Finally he said: "I ain't leavin' without the Sword."

So that was it. I resisted the urge to confront him with angry words. Propping my elbows on my knees, I cupped my chin with both hands. "Why?" I asked, keeping my voice reasonable.

"So ye really never heard of it?" He faced me, raising his eyebrows. "Forged by Triton himself, some say. A treasure more precious than gold." He resumed pacing, then suddenly said: "Did ye see him cast off the _Berwick_? Did ye hear the music playin' by itself? All he does is hold the Sword an' command things t' do his bidding. There be no need to speak the words"-he tapped his forehead-"the Sword knows what its master wants."

It was plain how much he wanted the Sword. I had never heard so much envy in his voice, not even for the golden tablet.

"If I were master o' that Sword," he said, "I could rule the seas – I'd be King of the Pirates."

I glanced at him sharply.

"Assumin' King Swann were to abdicate," he added.

Was there no end to his ambition? "Why stop at ruling the seas?" I asked tartly. "Why not rule the world?"

"Because the Sword must be near a ship," he explained, oblivious to my sarcasm. "Otherwise its power wanes until there be none at all." He considered for a moment, then as an afterthought, added, "They say it can call the winds as well."

"Any fool can call the wind by whistling aboard a ship," I retorted. "Surely you know that old mariner's tale?" As a child, I had personally been scolded for doing just that by Teague himself. "Even if it does call them, once the winds rise, you can't control them."

He glared, jutting his jaw. "By the powers, I ain't afraid o' the winds!"

"By the powers, I'd be confounded if you were," I said, unable to suppress a smile. The tension between us eased. I stretched out my arm. "Come here, love…please…"

I drew him to the side of the berth, then slid my arms about his waist and pressed my cheek against his stomach. He laid his hand on the crown of my head and began to toy with my tresses, gently working his fingers through them and caressing my scalp.

I sighed, recalling the soothing way he had searched for my hairpins long ago and how his tender sensuality had sparked the beginnings of my affection and trust. Why shouldn't he have the Sword? I would have given him the world if I could.

"I promise you: if I can get it, it shall be yours," I said.

"Sweetheart…" He sat on the berth and began to disorder my clothes, pausing now and then to feed my craving for him with the most sublime and intemperate kisses.

Then we fell into each other's arms and I closed my eyes, drunk on the warm, musky scent of his breath, the wiry feel of his whiskers, and the generous fullness of his mouth pressing against mine. My blood pulsed hot with longing for him, and soon our limbs were entwined and we thought no more of Ponce de Leon or the dangers circling round us.

…

The next night, I was in an anxious humour as we made our way to dinner. "There must be some way to persuade him to give me the Sword," I mused aloud.

"I hope so," Hector replied. "And we'd best think of it before we get to Whitecap Bay."

I shuddered. There would be no escape for us in the waters of that deadly bay. Even if we stole one of the _Santiago's_ boats, the mermaids would smash it to kindling.

Upon entering the captain's quarters, we were met once more with the sounds of antique music, and our vibrant, luxurious surroundings contrasted starkly with the person presiding over them. His aged hand faltered as he lifted a jewel-encrusted goblet to his lips, and from time to time, he seemed to lose the thread of his own thoughts. But he was determined to impress and entertain us. It flashed through my mind that he must crave human companionship most desperately.

"I assure you," he said. "The _Santiago_ seems practically alive when I have recently drunk from the Fountain. I am a young man again, strong and happy. Tonight that liveliness is a faded memory, but I assure you…I assure you..." His words trailed off. I suppose it had occurred to him that he was speaking to his victims, who would not survive to witness his rejuvenation.

Seeing our long faces, he sought to distract us. He drew the Sword and pointed it at an alcove across the room. "Have you ever danced the Pavan?" he asked me.

"I haven't had the pleasure." I turned my gaze to the alcove and saw something beginning to stir.

As I stared, a pair of very slender marionettes, worked by their strings, tiptoed out of the alcove on long, delicate legs and stood before us. They wore old-fashioned court dress, and stood a little less than three feet in height. Their faces and bodies had been stitched out of very fine silk, and their costumes were studded with tiny gems and threads of gold. Where they came from, I could not imagine.

It occurred to me that the captain of the _Santiago_ must be the sort of person who never disposes of anything that comes into his possession. That would certainly account for the hordes of unique treasures on his ship.

Under the control of the Sword, the marionettes performed a tentative, stately dance to the music of the Spanish renaissance. Forward and back again, side to side, they bowed mechanically and pirouetted sedately with simple steps, displaying their finery.

"The Pavan, you see?" Ponce de Leon explained. "A beautiful dance, eh?"

I forced an answering smile. "Yes, and, ah…very decorous."

He sighed. "I know it is dull for young persons." His gaze drifted away, as though he was beholding a scene from many years past. "Whenever we came to Las Palmas, the girls in the harbour towns would dance El Canario—very lively! Quick music and stamping feet." He laughed and raised his arms for a moment as if holding castanets.

It may have been that one gesture that gave me the idea, but all at once I knew how I could ask for the Sword. I stole a look at Hector. He must have seen the change in my face, for he grew watchful and said not a word.

"I am very interested in these things," I said to our host, indicating the corner whence came the music. "Will you grant me a closer look?"

He was happy to indulge me, and I spent a little time admiring each reed pipe, cittern and viol. At last I unfolded an embroidered cloth and spied what I had been hoping against hope to find.

Turning to Ponce de Leon with a smile, I said: "You've travelled far, señor." I indicated two oddly-shaped instruments. "This is called a _tombak_ and this, a _nei anban_. I know them from a little town on the Caspian Sea."

"But I can't command them to play," he said with an apologetic shrug. "I'm unfamiliar with their music."

As I examined the embroidered fabric, something heavy fell out of its folds and landed at my feet with a bright, jingling noise. I picked it up, and saw that it was a coin belt.

"That is worn with the gown," said Ponce de Leon.

I unfolded the fine cloth and held it up. It was a _saidi_-style dress-not exactly what I wanted, but it would do very nicely indeed. Fortune had dealt me a winning hand at last.

I clutched the dress to my chest and turned to Ponce de Leon.

"You must allow me to thank you for your gallant and generous hospitality," I said. "Tomorrow night, I will dance for you, in the style I learned in Baku."

"It would be an honour, señora," he replied, very pleased. I feared he might stand and attempt a bow, but he seemed aware of his own frailty. "Tomorrow night, then."

Hector was staring at me as if I had produced a live ocelot from his hat. I kept my smiling composure, but as we left, I muttered to him, "You needn't look so amazed—you don't know everything about me yet!"

"I can see that," he said with a sideways glance. "Will it work?"

With a nod, I said: "I believe it will."

…

The next afternoon, I spread out the _saidi_ dress on our berth, and inspected it. Thin, peacock blue silk with very fine silk embroidery in ivory and rose, and a narrow border of silver threads worked into the shape of a flowering vine. Where on earth had the old conquistador acquired such a thing?

I took a breath and exhaled slowly, calming myself. Bandari. Harbour-dancing, just as Mavash had said in my dream. Could I remember the movements and perform them? A trifling, remote bit of my past had just assumed an importance I would never have credited. But I had learnt that everything that happens in our lives has its own purpose and bears fruit in its own time.

Hector stood beside me, gazing at the dress as he lightly kneaded the small of my back with his knuckles. "No shoes?"

I shook my head. "No shoes and no veil. This is all there was. I'll dance barefoot, but I think we should add some ornaments – rings and such like." I pulled a small jar from my pocket and Hector cocked an eyebrow.

"From Jack, long ago," I said, daubing my eyelids with kohl.

"Family tradition?" he asked drily. Then he turned his attention to the small heaps of valuables that filled the cabin, and took charge of selecting the best rings. After some trial and error, five were placed on my fingers and two on my toes.

As I removed my waistcoat, I had a horrid thought – would the dress be too small for me? Hector was eager to help me disrobe, but seemed far less inclined to assist me in donning the _saidi_ dress. Instead, he ran his rough palms over my skin, turning me this way and that, until my face flushed with pleasure and my knees grew weak.

"Don't start something we haven't time to finish," I sighed as desire took hold of me. "I don't want dinner. I want an hour with you. And who knows how this night may end?"

He brushed his fingers along my neck. "We'll take the Sword," he said. Then he murmured in my ear, "I'm proud of ye."

Reluctantly, I slid the dress over my head and worked myself into it. To my immense relief, it did just fit, and I hoped the coin belt would disguise any unusual roundness that might betray my condition. My hair hung loose and wild, almost to my waist. Hector looked me up and down, and nodded his approval.

Then I thought of one last matter. "We need to get him to lower his guard." I touched the lapel of his coat. "That'll be up to you."

He grinned, his eyes lit with sly mirth. "Agreed. I'll see that he don't lack fer drink. You worry about yer dancin'."

…

It had been my naïve hope that Ponce de Leon would give me the Sword so that I could call forth the exotic music I needed for my dancing, but I was soon disabused of that notion.

"Come closer, _mi vidita_," the old captain said, smiling and beckoning me. I approached, obedient if not exactly eager.

He set the Sword on the table and grasped its hilt. "Now. First you think of the music. Let it run through your thoughts." He made circles with his other hand to illustrate. "Then we will both hold the hilt for an instant, and the music will flow through to the instruments because I command it."

I swallowed my disappointment, and concentrated on the music I used to hear in Baku. Then I gritted my teeth and hesitantly placed my hand on the hilt, unable to avoid contact with the ancient, wasted hand of our host.

During the instant that our hands touched, I was aware that by some means I perceived his true character, undiminished by the depredations of the Fountain. It was not a case of thought-reading, but something more mysterious. I knew for a fact that Maroto had told the truth – Ponce de Leon had been a good man, and his character was still rooted in virtue. But the Fountain had stripped him forever of his human will.

As soon as the Bandari music began, I snatched my hand back, confused and uncertain of myself. But no one, not Ponce de Leon, Maroto, or Hector seemed to notice anything unusual.

I listened to the music for a moment, and began to move sideways in quick, crossing steps to the centre of the cabin. The movements began to come back to me, and I lifted my arms, taking smaller, faster steps to match the lively music. I remembered the little shoulder quivers that had taken me many hours to learn, and how hands flutter like birds, like falling leaves, in flirtatious, graceful motions. I let the music take me where my troubles couldn't follow: unburdened, I was simply moving, exhilarated by the dance. I raked my hands through my tresses, flung my hair forward, and then shook it down my back as I shimmied.

And just then, I thought of another way-undoubtedly the last chance I would get-to take possession of the Sword. As the dance ended, it was clear that Ponce de Leon had been drinking freely all the while, and he seemed quite pleased overall. I caught Maroto's eye for a moment, and thought I saw him nod at me very slightly.

"_Qué bonita!_ _Muchos besos!_" his uncle said, clapping and beckoning with both hands. "_Ven aquí, ven aquí!_" His words were slurred and I knew this was, in Jack's favourite words, the opportune moment.

I forced myself to smile and approach him. "I'm so happy to dance for you!" I said in Spanish, "If only I had my scimitar, I could perform the sword dance- it is so beautiful! But only the scimitar has a blunt side that can be balanced on the head."

"But let us try if this will work." He held out the Sword of Triton unsteadily. "See? This edge should suffice. Take it! Try it now, yes?"

I gingerly rested the blunt edge of the Sword on my head and slowly took my hands away.

"Yes! It balances!" I said. I glanced at the door. Too far to simply run for it. I would have to dance once more, and try to move away as I did so.

I held the sword horizontally, one hand at each end, and positioned it behind my head. Closing my eyes, I thought of the music.

The drums set a slow, hypnotic tempo, nothing like the bright, happy Bandari. I moved languidly on the balls of my feet, hesitating, dropping and lifting my hips as I moved to the centre of the room, knowing how the men would be staring at the undulations of my pelvis.

I straightened my arms, made a single turn to face them, and dropped to my knees, legs braced. I arched my torso until my head nearly touched the floor. I brushed a large circle with my hair, leaning to the side, the front, and back again. Then I leaned over and picked up the sword, turning as I rose to my feet, rippling my torso and belly with snake-like movements. And then I happened to glance at Hector. With a shock, I realised his eyes were fixed on my midsection.

He knows, I thought as my throat tightened. And he knows I'm a liar. He knows he can never trust me. But I could not stop the performance, and dancers do not shed tears.

With great ceremony, I balanced the sword on my head, extended my arms, and continued with little steps as my hips rolled sensuously. I turned my back, shaking my hips a little faster, and my steps brought me closer to Hector. He nodded. Now was the moment we could act.

I spun back to face Ponce de Leon, pointing the Sword at him. "Hold him!" I said aloud.

Before he could understand what I had done, the wooden arms of his chair folded over his wrists and trapped him. I threw the Sword to Hector. "It's yours now." He caught it with one hand and was out of the room in a single bound.

"Go now! Run!" Maroto's voice was hoarse. "Remember the Sword calls the winds!" His uncle was struggling, protesting, and the cruelty of my actions wrung my conscience. I ran from the room in utter distress.

Outside, a blast of gale force wind peppered my face with salt water that stung like needles. The wind caught at the _saidi_ dress and almost knocked me over. I staggered back a few steps, calling Hector's name, although I couldn't even hear my own voice over the storm. We had agreed that we would use the Sword to get free in one of the ship's boats, but we hadn't imagined that the winds would be this bad.

Enormous swells were building, and I knew they would soon overwhelm the _Santiago_. Then I saw one of the ship's boats a short distance away, still tied to the _Santiago_ by a long line that was fraying as I watched. Hector was already in the boat, motioning me to join him.

I seized the long line with both hands, and hung from it as I jumped off the deck. My legs dragged in the water, and I began to go hand-over-hand along the rope towards the boat. The rough seas made it seem miles away, and each time a heavy wave hit, it submerged me completely and tore at my grip on the line. My bare feet were so cold I felt no sensation in them.

At last I reached the gunwale, and saw that Hector was hanging onto the boat with one hand and holding the Sword with the other. I was about to clamber into the boat when a large wave broke directly over us, and I heard the hull crack in the middle. I lunged towards Hector as the boat was split in half by the force of the water.

The long rope snapped in my hand, but I grabbed at an oarlock and hung on for dear life, unable to get out of the waves. Hector had one hand on the wrecked boat and the other on the Sword. He had no way to pluck me from the water, and was shouting at me to grab the hem of his coat. But each time I lunged, the seas forced me back again. I was terrified of losing the strength in my arms as the cold water numbed them. If that happened, I would most certainly drown.

I tried to call out to him, but another blast of sea spray filled my throat and set me to coughing helplessly. I didn't even feel it when some piece of debris hit the back of my head, but my hands loosened and I began to slip under the water. Just before I lost consciousness, I felt a hand grip my elbow, but then the deep green of the ocean closed over me, and I knew nothing more.

* * *

**Chapter 25 –****The Edge of Survival** – Alone.


	25. Edge of Survival

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 25**

**Edge of Survival**

A dark, silent abyss below. A heraldic device above my head. Something you'd find on a coat-of-arms. What did they call it?

_A dexter arm embowed, with hand grasping a sword proper_. Yes, that was it.

The hand opened and the sword fell slowly past me, tumbling end over end, golden sparks of light dancing along the blade, all fading to black.

A thing of beauty, gone forever.

I slept.

...

My throat seized up, snapping me awake with a violent urge to cough. I couldn't breathe through my nose and my stomach heaved, wanting to be rid of everything I'd ever eaten. Under my back was a flat, sandy surface instead of a nice warm berth.

A hand pushed me roughly onto my side, and my nose was released. Sopping wet, I doubled over, choking out sea water which burned every inch of the way from my stomach to my mouth. Someone was holding me by one shoulder and rubbing my back.

Hector.

"Easy, lass," he said. "Tis over now."

My head, like every other inch of my body, throbbed. Had we been in a shipwreck? Groggy, I sat up and looked about, eyes watering, nose dripping, and throat so raw I couldn't speak. Everything was a jumble, flashes of events that I couldn't piece together.

"I pulled ye out when the waves swallered ye," he said. "An' now we've been spat up by the sea...somewhere." He produced a flask from his pocket and offered it to me.

I cleared my throat very gingerly and took a small sip. "Why don't I remember?" I managed to croak.

"'Tis often the case when ye nearly drown." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Take a few more swigs. Ye'll find ye remember more, presently."

I staggered to my feet. Hector rose at the same time and caught my elbow, steadying me as I drank. But something about my clothes wasn't right-I was wearing a _saidi_ dress. There had been a dinner and...Ponce de Leon. Then I recalled music. "I was dancing..." I looked at Hector.

"Aye." It was too dark to see his expression, but his manner was terse.

Another memory stirred. We were in a small boat, and the wind was roaring, making huge waves. I had feared I wouldn't live. "You said there was a storm."

He bowed his head for a moment and sighed. "The Sword called the winds."

A picture flashed through my mind. A sword. The Sword that could call the winds. Was that also the sword in my dream? The treasure Hector had dreamed of possessing, that we had captured from Ponce de Leon.

I stole several looks at him, even casting a quick glance at the ground, but there was no sign of any Sword.

"If it can call the winds," he said wearily, "Then it stands t' reason..."

I pressed my hand against my forehead. "Please. I'm so confused. You had the Sword, didn't you? Where is it now?"

He tightened his mouth and gave a brief shrug. "Lost in the storm. Once the sea took it, the winds dropped down."

For a moment, the meaning of his words eluded me, but then he offered his hand. I suppressed a gasp. It was Hector whose hand I'd seen, not in a dream but in some final delirium. But he would never have intentionally thrown away such a treasure - surely not for my sake. That part must have been my fevered imagination. No, he must have lost his grip on it whilst pulling me from the sea.

I could have wept, thinking how he must resent me. "I've cost you your prize. Oh, Hector..."

"Ye cost me nothin'," he said fiercely. Tipping my chin up, he locked eyes with me. "Me prize be standin' before me. I had the choice o' two treasures an' took the one I wanted." He took my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze. "Don't ye ever doubt it."

He leaned in closer as he spoke, then kissed me firmly.

In the passion of that kiss, I recognised the sign I had longed for, the pledge I had been seeking from him. Ever since the heartache and betrayal of Tortuga, I had been waiting for some indefinable moment that would sweep away all my doubt and tears. Now, I accepted. I believed.

"Never." I wrapped my arms about him. "I'll never doubt it."

He cradled my head against his coat lapel. "No more foolishness about costin' me," he rasped. "Ye need rest. Tomorrow we'll see what we've to do."

Arm in arm, we made our way to an area of soft, dry sand. As we settled in for the night, I began to wonder where we were and what might become of us. Had we pitched up on a shore that was unfamiliar to either one of us? If we were now in some part of the world where no trading ships passed, what would we do?

I nestled closer to Hector, putting all my hopes in his ability to survive. Surely he would find a way out of our difficulties. And he had chosen me-_me_, over the Sword of Triton. At last, the man who was the centre of my life had shown me my place in his. These thoughts vanquished all my fears, and I began to drowse.

...

Soft bands of light waved gently across my eyelids. As I slowly awakened, I could distinguish the sound of the ocean nearby, and the patterns of light and shadow resolved themselves into the long leaves of palm fronds, moving lazily to and fro above me.

I was lying on my back, arms at my sides. Confused, I crabbed my fingers a bit, and felt warm sand. Dreams mixed with memories. Was I Ponce de Leon's captive? And where was Hector?

With a gasp, I sat bolt upright.

The glare of the sun made me blink and shade my eyes. Hector was sitting nearby, having evidently been looking towards the horizon. My sudden awakening must have made him turn his head. He gave me no 'good morning', and regarded me with an air that was anything but friendly.

"So, when was ye plannin' on tellin' me?" he asked.

"When did I plan on telling you?" I frowned, uncomprehending.

He moved closer and rested his hand on my belly. I flushed scarlet with mortification and guilt. "When?" he repeated. "I've been wonderin', but I thought ye'd say somethin'. Now ye don't have to-I can see fer meself." He paused. "So when did ye mean t' tell me, missus?"

"I tried, more than once," I said, feeling the beginnings of defiance take hold of me, "but there was always some danger at hand. I knew you'd take it ill. I knew you'd say we had an accord-but we didn't!" I rushed on before he could interrupt. "I only told you that I _understood_. I never said I _agreed_."

He gave me an odd look, somewhere between disbelief and enlightenment. I thought he must find it strange that I was as capable as he was of parsing my words and finding a loophole. But I was not about to engage in debate.

"You needn't worry," I said. "I won't discommode you in any way. I've already given this a good deal of thought. I need to stay away from the court until after the baby is born. I'm supposed to pass unnoticed among the courtiers-I can't attract attention or scandal, so-"

He looked as if he might speak, but I took a quick breath and went on before he could argue.

"-so I'll join Rufus and Jen in St Thomas. Afterwards, if I'm summoned, I'll have to return alone. But the moment I can do so, I'll produce the baby as a niece or nephew-only the friends I trust will know the truth. And I do have friends-old friends of my family-who will help me."

He lifted his brows, but I wasn't finished.

"I don't want money from you. I've pitched upon smuggling as a good business to defray expenses. And Elizabeth can join me-we've already made money from a venture through Mr Defoe. We can use that money to purchase a small boat, perhaps a lugger. With a small crew, we can do short runs from France, and-"

Scowling, he clapped a hand over my mouth. "Enough!" he roared.

I pulled away, bracing for his outrage, but he merely shook his head.

"I see ye've made yer plans," he allowed grudgingly. "Money, friends o' the family...Thought of everything, it seems."

There was a long, tense silence between us. Then he muttered: "I s'pose it'd kill ye t' let me look after ye."

I let this idea sink in for a moment. "I thought your position was 'no brats'."

He narrowed his eyes. "An' that be the true reason ye were so backward about tellin' me," he said. "So spare me yer protestations o' 'danger at hand'. The only danger that had ye frighted was me!"

Tears welled in my eyes. "I knew you'd be angry. When you don't get what you want, no one can reach you." My face pinched as I began to cry hopelessly. "Your heart is harder than a diamond."

"Did I not tell ye I love ye?" he asked, a sharp glitter in his eyes.

"You did. Some time ago." On the night he had asked for my hand in marriage, in fact.

"Naught's changed. Nor ever will. Always did, always will."

He offered me his hand, and when I took it, he drew me close and petted me, nuzzling my ear. "Do ye know how they cut diamonds?" he said in a softer tone. "There be a weak point in any stone. When it be struck in the right place, well..."

He tipped my chin up and gazed at me with the bright blue eyes that had first won my heart. As he leaned towards me, my eyes began to close, and he pressed his warm, heavy lips against my eager mouth.

I threw my arms about his neck and he gave me more of the kisses I craved, holding me tightly and caressing my back.

"Ye married an old rogue," he murmured, scratchy whiskers brushing against my ear. "Ye could have found a better man, but none that loves ye more."

Marooned we might be, facing starvation and death, but my heart could have danced. "There's no one like you, Hector. Yours is the only love I've ever wanted," I said, as perfect happiness descended on me.

...

We knew not whether we were on an island or the mainland, but finding fresh water was our first order of business. There were unfamiliar green hills behind us, so we agreed to make our way along the beach first, since any stream or river must run down to the sea.

As we walked, I surveyed the horizon. I feared we were far from any part of the ocean that Hector recognised. Worse still, I saw no ships, and the curve of the shore suggested that we were on some remote island. Without nothing to drink we would die here quickly, but even if we found water, how long could we survive?

I was trying to reckon our lives in days and even hours, but then Hector began to talk of the future as if it were ours for the taking. This restored some of my confidence that we would be rescued, although his ideas were enough to make me laugh aloud.

"Perhaps, since ye be under the King's protection, he might grant ye the property at Highcliffe," he ventured, darting me a quick, sidelong look.

I stopped walking. "Did I hear you correctly?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps ye might beg a favour of him."

"I _have_ done," I replied, still stunned by Hector's proposal. "I begged him to take Highcliffe from me in exchange for sending a man o' war to Pencarren and pardoning you, Jack and my father! And now you want me to beg him again? This time, to give back what I bargained away?"

"Ye must think o' the future," he lectured me. "What be best fer me son?"

My mouth fell open. "Your son?" I stammered.

"Well..._our _son, then. Ye have a right to that property, bargain notwithstanding. And yer grandfather were a viscount - ye should be made a-" He moved his head impatiently, searching for a title. "-a duchess or somethin'. T'would give our lad a better start in life than I had."

He spoke with great conviction, and I saw that he was sincere if misinformed. Although I had no intention of indulging his absurd plan, I thought I might let him cool off a bit before we discussed matters.

I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow. "Of course I want what's best for him, my heart."

We exchanged smiles, and I continued. "Or, just possibly, for _her_, on the off chance that I bear you a daughter."

His eyes widened at the word.

"But you must give me a little time to think how and when to approach the King on it." I rose up on my toes and kissed his cheek. When we resumed walking, Hector seemed deep in thought.

We had gone about two furlongs when we spied the mouth of a stream pouring out over the sands. After drinking our fill of the clear, fresh water, we continued on our way, although the day was becoming quite warm. A short distance away, the shore veered off to the right, behind a rocky outcropping.

"Stay back," Hector cautioned. "I'll have a look first." Leaving me to wait, he strode off and disappeared round the corner.

I had had enough of yielding to my commanding husband. I counted quickly to ten, and then followed him. I found him standing just beyond my line of sight, and we both stared at what lay before us. "I'll be damned!" he said softly.

Wedged between the rocks and heeled over about thirty degrees to larboard, was the _Berwick_.

She was missing one mast and nearly all her sails, and her stern lay much lower than her bow, but I was jubilant. If we could salvage any provisions, they might keep us from starvation whilst we awaited rescue.

"I suppose I'm a wrecker now," I shouted to Hector as we both hastened towards the ship.

"Nay!" he rejoined with a grin. "I hereby claim the _Berwick_ an' grant ye salvage rights, so ye ain't a wrecker, m' sweet. I hope her cargo still be dry."

I seized a broken spar that had fallen to the sand, and jabbed at the ship's hull, where I knew her Jacob's ladder was rolled up. After a few attempts, assisted by Hector, the ladder unrolled, and we scrambled up onto the deck.

After sounding the ship, Hector dashed my hope that she might be seaworthy. "She's broken her back," he announced. Seeing my look of alarm, he added, "Means her keel be broken on the rocks."

A ship with no keel would capsize if we tried to sail her, so we set to work unloading provisions, tools, spare sails, and medicines. We threw everything down to the sand, and lowered the heavier goods with ropes. Before long we had a very large heap of everything from cooking pots to canvas and rigging to raisins.

When we entered the main cabin, I blessed Maroto for making us leave our weapons there. We retrieved our arms, and also removed bedlinens, mattress and hammock. I rummaged through the spare clothes and found enough to assemble the boy's clothes in which I was most comfortable, although my feet were still bare.

After several hours' work, we climbed down the ladder and removed all we had taken, dragging it away from the water. The tide was beginning to come in, and we needed to secure our plunder before it was ruined or swept out to sea.

...

Using the ship's spare sails, rigging and some poles, we built a makeshift tent sheltered by trees and underbrush. Hector took the tallest pole to the water's edge, where he hoisted the_ Berwick's _colours as a signal to any passing vessel.

"It be too late today," he said, "but tomorrow we'll be movin'. We'll set up camp on one o' them hills and keep watch fer ships."

Then he waved me towards the tent, which I eyed dubiously. It looked as though the interior would be cramped and sweltering hot. "We could just sleep under the stars," I said. "It's a warm and lovely night."

He looked up at the clear sunset skies. "Nay. Sleep under the stars tonight, and there'll be rain in yer face before dawn."

It didn't seem so to me, but I forbore to argue with him.

At least we would have our supper in the open air. I made up a fire and prepared what I could from the _Berwick's_ stores. Cheese, apples, potato pie-it was humble fare, but we could wash it down with brandy, and that was some consolation.

We spread a blanket over the sand and ate our meal in the gentle evening breeze. As we ate, Hector continued to opine on my plans as though our rescue from the island was a certainty.

"Ye'll stay with me 'til yer confinement be nigh," he announced through a mouth full of apple. "I might have somethin' to say about the smugglin', but I've no objection to Rufus and his daughter helpin' ye with the birth. What did ye want t' call him, by the by?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, then decided that smuggling might be the easier topic to take up. "What did you want to say about smuggling? It's not as though I know nothing. In Cornwall-"

"Aye, Cornwall," he interrupted. "Ye told me of yer venture with Sparrow when ye were scarce more'n a little stripling." He put down his plate. "But ye can't be thinkin' only about yerself now. Smugglin' will draw trouble, just so's ye know."

He fixed me with a penetrating stare as he explained his meaning. "All smugglers carry a deal o' gold with 'em to buy the goods, an' a deal more when they make a good market on their cargo. Brigands find out who ye are and look t' rob ye."

I supposed, since he was a brigand himself, I should heed his advice. "Noted. I'll be careful, my heart."

"There be more." He pointed a finger at me. "If ye be taken up on charges, ye'll hang."

"I see." I mulled this over for a moment. "And what risks do you reckon go with piracy?"

"That ain't the point!" He tightened his mouth and scowled at me. "I know yer reckless nature! I know what Rufus calls ye-'Wild Nina'! I know-"

"You have no faith in me!" I objected hotly. "You didn't even trust me with the work of a King's Messenger! You went with me to the Pantano because you thought me incompetent-and weak!"

He stared, wide-eyed. "Who ever said that? 'Twas yer welfare that concerned me! Ye said there was a man who tried to kill Maroto in the chapel, and a rider pursuin' ye out of London, and another one watchin' Mrs Turner's house. Who might they be? What be their quarry?"

He had me there, but I rejected the notion that he only cared for my safety. I looked away.

"By the powers, yer stubborn as a mule," he grumbled. "Not unlike meself."

Setting our empty plates aside, he reached for me. "Did ye think us marryin' would be an easy berth? Because I knew better. I knew 'twould be hard." His eyes searched mine as he traced my jaw with his fingertips. "Don't be unkind, sweetheart."

Our lips met. Once, twice...

Stretching out his legs, he leant back slightly against the trunk of a palm tree. He held my hand to steady me as I stepped across him and slowly knelt, straddling his lap. I had been about to say "I love you," but warmed by the look in his sweet blue eyes, I gave a tremulous sigh instead, and my intended words resolved themselves into gentle kisses, bestowed upon the centre of his lower lip, the right half of his upper lip, the left half of his upper lip, and the corners of his mouth, and his upturned chin. Gradually our arms tightened round each other, and we gave vent to our rising passions, too miserly to spare even an instant between the deep kisses we shared.

My breathing grew heavier and I began to unfasten the buttons on his vest. Once his coat and waistcoat were cast aside, the rest of our clothes followed, and there was nothing between our bodies and the night sky. "Always wanted t' do this with ye," he murmured into my hair, as we touched each other languidly, openly. "Better'n the finest bedchamber, aint it?"

But I was in no humour for talk. I needed him, needed his caresses, the feel of his skin against mine, and the roughness of his passionate thrusts. I gave his neck a playful nibble and he seized my wrists, pinning me down. "Me little minx," he hissed in my ear. I surrendered to him joyfully and he groaned as he took what he wanted.

Afterwards we rested, drowsing side by side under a canopy of bright stars as the breeze cooled our skin. I gazed at the constellations and the Milky Way, enjoying but not really seeing the multitude of celestial attractions, until I noticed three stars set in a straight line. Orion's belt.

"Look." I nestled against Hector's shoulder, pointing. "I know that one. It's Orion."

He grunted agreement. "Orion the Hunter. But the Carib don't call him the Hunter. To them he's the One-Legged Man."

"I suppose because Rigel is so bright," I replied idly. "You don't really notice his other leg." My dreams of Orion as an ill omen seemed far away, and I was disinclined to mention them. Having finally made sure of Hector's respect, I didn't wish to ruin it with superstitious folderol. Still, I made note of the Carib name. Perhaps I ought to beware of a one-legged man who was hunting something.

As the hour grew very late, we collected our clothes and retired to sleep in the tent. But before I could get comfortable, Hector pulled me close. He seemed to be steeling his resolve for something.

After a moment, he made me a startling promise. "I mean t' tell ye where I keep me money," he said through gritted teeth.

"Are-are you sure?" It was unthinkable; I must have misheard. My own family had kept me mostly ignorant of their financial arrangements.

"I might need ye t' bring it t' me. Or use it on me behalf, if I be captured. Or to bury me. Ye never know." He sighed. "Or ye might need it t' care for me son."

I nodded. There was a lump of emotion in my throat that prevented me from speaking. He trusted me. We were a family. In the morning, we would find a way to save ourselves from this island-perhaps embarking in one of the _Berwick's_ boats. As long as we were alive and had provisions, as long as we had each other, I could believe that the future lay before us.

As we slept, the weather Hector had warned of was building in. A fresh breeze rose and the sea swell increased. Before dawn, I was awakened by the sound of rain on the canvas over our heads, but the restful pattering and soothing _shush_ of the wind through the palm fronds soon put me back to sleep.

In the morning, my love and I went back to the cove to get more supplies from the _Berwick_. But when we arrived, my spirits sank. Overnight, the wind and the movement of the seas had repeatedly beaten her against the rocks until she broke apart. Little remained but kindling.

* * *

**Next: Chapter 26 –** **A Compass That Doesn't Point North** – Barbossa and Nina move to the island's highest point.


	26. A Compass That Doesn't Point North

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 26**

**A Compass That Doesn't Point North**

Pieces of the _Berwick's_ broken timbers were strewn everywhere along the shore, and the sight turned my bones to jelly. We were left with only the supplies we had taken on the previous day, which now seemed a pitifully small cargo. A sense of unreality took hold of me to think that there would be no escape for us. The food would run out, no rescue would come, and we would die here, on this tiny speck of land in an ocean of endless solitude.

Instinctively, I reached for Hector's hand. He glanced at me with an air of resolute assurance. "'Tis of small account to us," he rasped, with an impatient wave of his hand. "We'll be sighted and rescued soon enough."

It seemed just as likely to me that a faery boat would descend from the moon and pluck us off the island, but I forbore to argue. He stole another look at me, a challenging glint in his blue eyes. Clearly, he expected me to show the same stony determination that he possessed, and how could I refuse him? What would I gain by giving in to despair?

I stiffened my spine and resolved to follow my captain. "Well, let her go then," I said with far more conviction than I felt. "At least we've less to carry up the hill."

He grunted his approval, and led me back along the beach to the stream where we had quenched our thirst the day before. Tracing its course through the jungle, we made our way up a gentle slope to a large outcropping that overlooked the ocean on all sides. Just below it, we found the source of the stream, a pool fed by a small waterfall.

All in all, it was a lovely spot, with fresh water and more than enough room for our tent and provisions. A picturesque place for us to die.

\- o -

By afternoon, we had set up our sleeping quarters and begun to carry up our victuals. After the third trip, Hector became unusually solicitous and ordered me to stop, on the grounds that too much work would somehow have an ill effect on me.

"Yer t' keep a lookout fer ships," he declared, handing me his spyglass. "Captain's orders."

I watched him stride off down the hill, then raised the glass to my eye. Turning slowly round, I studied the horizon. There was no trace of land in any direction, nor did I spy the mast of a single ship.

Where was this place? I had read enough of buccaneers' adventures to know that the oceans of the world were vast-beyond imagining, beyond the puny reach of man. Perhaps no one since the dawn of time had ever set foot upon this shore.

Even a glimpse of the _Santiago_ would have been welcome. But the storm had swept away Ponce de Leon's ship, just as Maroto promised. It was luck alone that had brought the _Berwick_ to us, but where was the _Santiago_? I only knew it wasn't here.

Fear snapped at my heels-a hungry cur ready to bring me down if my spirits faltered. I squinted through the lens again.

Nothing...nothing...nothing.

I lowered the spyglass, holding it loosely as I stood ruminating. Even Hector's returning footsteps failed to draw my attention, but suddenly he was there, pressing his hand over mine, reading the dismay in my face.

He brushed his fingers lightly over my hair. "No wonder ye be in low spirits," he remarked. "Look at the state yer in. But I know how t' set things right."

He brought me down to the pool at the foot of the small cataract and stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders. "Try the water," he purred in my ear. "'Twill soothe ye, an' I know yer mad fer bathin'."

I smiled in spite of myself, knowing how foolish he found my notions of hygiene. "Someday you'll see the advantage in it," I replied.

"Is that so?" he asked absently, massaging my shoulders.

Then, catching my hair with his long fingers, he softly raked the tangled strands away from my neck. He kissed the top of my shoulder, breathing in my scent, taking his time. I closed my eyes. His wiry whiskers tickled my skin deliciously as his heavy, generous kisses moved steadily up the side of my neck to my earlobe.

"Pretty tresses," he growled.

"That was the first compliment you ever paid me," I murmured. Clad only in the thin fabric of the _saidi_ dress, I felt vulnerable and curiously light-headed. He slid his arms about my waist and I savoured the tide of desire rising within me.

He turned me to face him and my heart leapt as our eyes met.

"When that weasel Norrington went sniffin' round yer skirts, I held me tongue," he said. "And I stood by while ye danced near naked fer the Spaniard. But that's over an' done with. Now there's no call t' please anyone but ourselves." He kissed my mouth urgently, possessively. "Off with yer clothes, missus. I like ye best without 'em."

I gathered the hem of the _saidi_ dress and began to lift it over my head. He let his fingers play lightly over my skin, tracing feathery patterns all round my waist and thighs. "'Tis pleasin' to be here alone with ye."

He helped me throw off the dress, then drew his hands across my skin once more. "Go on then." His voice was husky with anticipation. "Let me see ye bathe."

I lowered myself into the rocky pool, which was nearly shoulder deep. The water, heated by the sun to near perfection, invited and refreshed me, washing away the salt and sandy grit that had collected on my skin and hair. I let the water support me, luxuriating in a peacefulness that drove away all tension.

Hector stood at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, and watched from under his heavy eyelids. His features were impassive, but I knew that this was his customary expression when his deepest sensuality was most strongly engaged. His eyes surveyed every inch of me, taking me in from head to toe and back again.

I gave him a teasing smile. "Are you so opposed to bathing that you won't join me? You might enjoy it..."

Without a word, he shed his coat, sword, pistol and boots. Arranging these items neatly, he set his hat atop the pile and removed the rest of his clothes. Then he faced me, wearing naught but a wolfish grin.

"I see ye ain't lookin' me in the eye," he said, wading into the pool.

I floated on my back, laughing. "Oh dear... you've caught me out!"

I swam away from him, but he disappeared below the water at once. As I reached the other side of the pool, his strong hand gripped my ankle and he surfaced. "Got ye! Strike yer colours an' surrender!"

"Never!" I cried, but couldn't supress my merriment.

"Laughin', are ye? I'll teach ye!" He let go my ankle and began to stroke and tickle me, his long nails producing an exquisite tingle in every sensitive area. "Surrender!" he demanded, as I shrieked with laughter.

"No!" I tried to slap his hands but he was far too quick for me.

"Call fer quarters!" More skirmishes. Now we were both laughing.

"I won't!"

I tried to parry his movements, and even retaliated with a few daring attacks of my own, but his strength and long reach conquered me. He seized my wrists with one hand and made the most of my undefended ribs with the other.

"Parley!" I gasped through spasms of giggles. "Parley! You're supposed to stop!"

He stopped, but kept hold of my wrist and drew me close. We kissed, still laughing and slightly out of breath. After a moment, he said: "Parley is it? Well, what d' ye want'?"

"I want to know why you're so confident we'll be rescued."

He looked genuinely amused. "Do ye now? Well, I'm disinclined t' tell ye. If ye want to know, figure it out!" He regarded me expectantly.

I offered up the only thing I could think of. "Our friends are searching for us even as I speak?"

His reply was rough and jovial. "Our friends be in Tortuga by now, an' likely not sober enough t' recall our names."

I frowned, then saw another possibility. "Have you an accord with Tia Dalma?"

He answered with a snort of laughter. "Nay. Our cares be none o' Calypso's concern."

I was silent for a few moments before inspiration struck again. "Then it must be Jack! You must have asked him to search for us before he weighed anchor!"

The curve in one corner of his mouth became an outright smirk. "Ye think I'd ask that feckless brother o' yers to rescue me-_me-_that he'd shoot dead in a trice? Don't ye know he's obsessed with findin' the Fountain?"

When he put it that way, I could see the justice of his view. Even Jack's brotherly affection for me wouldn't make a difference. He would play the odds as he always did: find the Fountain first, then look for me afterwards. And depend on everything coming right in the end.

"Well, perhaps..." But as I gazed at his torso, with the water lapping round his ribs, his nearness distracted me and provoked my passions. I stepped towards him so that our bodies touched.

He tipped up my chin with his fingers. "Trust yer man, sweetheart. I might know me own business better 'n ye think."

Then he pressed his mouth against mine in a sensual, lingering kiss. I surrendered to my craving for him, softening my lips until he thrust the point of his tongue into my mouth. I threw my arms about his neck, and felt my veins flush hot with longing.

His strong, bony arms encircled me and he hoisted me up so that I could wrap my legs round his middle. A powerful thrill of heat ran through me, making my loins quiver as I realised how fully aroused he was. "Hector," I gasped as I nuzzled his ear, "I need you so much..."

Holding me fast against his chest, he carried me through the pool towards the bright cataract of water. In a moment we had passed through the waterfall to a mossy bank behind it. We lay down and he began to run his hands over me in a gentle, leisurely fashion, warming my skin. After each caress, he bestowed a light kiss wherever his hand had strayed.

"Yer just a sweet little morsel, ain't ye?" he whispered, making my heart pound with excitement, "an' I mean t' pin ye down an' gobble ye up..."

I sighed and pressed close, trailing my fingers across his handsome flanks as slow waves of desire rolled through my belly. Gradually his caresses became more intimate and, despite our efforts to prolong these pleasures, our ardour soon reached a pitch that was uncontrollable. Hector rolled me onto my back, and I clutched his shoulders, digging in with all my strength as he possessed me. The rushing sounds of the water tumbling about us muted Hector's groans and my exclamations of joy as our passions found their release.

When all was calm once more, we lay entwined in a quiet glow of perfect tranquillity. I rested one hand softly upon his chest. "Why must this feeling ever fade?" I sighed. "I always wish it could go on forever."

Hector chuckled. "'Tis Nature, sweetheart. I suggest ye take it up with her."

We made our way slowly back to our discarded clothes, and Hector took a linen sheet from our bed so we might dry ourselves before we dressed. Then he spread it on the ground, and we sat side by side, drinking rum and watching the late afternoon turn to twilight.

When the sun was just above the horizon, its rays lit the tops of the waves near shore in such a manner that the water glowed the colour of molten gold. I leaned against Hector's shoulder and pointed out the golden waves. "I do believe," I said, "if it were all real gold, it still wouldn't be worth what we have -even if we die here."

Squinting at the horizon, he shook his head. "I told ye we ain't dyin' here, missus."

"Our provisions won't last long."

"We have all we need," he said, gripping his pistol. "Our weapons be the most important thing."

"Our _weapons_?" I raised my brows. "It's true I challenged you to a duel when we first met, but I rather hoped we were past that. So, who are you intending to fight?"

He gave me an impish look. "Who says I intend t' fight?"

As I stood up to begin preparing supper, he administered a playful slap on my rump. He was certainly in high spirits for a man condemned to die on a deserted island. Either the rum was affecting him strongly, or he had something up his sleeve.

But what?

\- o -

At supper, Hector was as expansive and voluble as he had been during our first dinners on the _Pearl_. "Compliments on yer cookin'," he said. "Fer a gentleman's daughter-or...niece, I suppose-ye furnish a fine dinner."

"Thank you, my heart," I said. "I learnt cooking when Captain Harry took me on his travels. We were often thrown on our own resources. I've been to Persia and to Russia – I've even crossed the Caucasus in a caravan once..." But my voice trailed off. I gazed, unseeing, at my plate. A lifetime ago, a world away. So much travel, only to be cornered in the end, trapped on such a tiny bit of land.

Hector looked at me sharply. "What ails ye?"

"I-I miss the motion of a ship at sea." The words just popped out of my mouth-a mere pretext for my low spirits, but also quite true. The rise and fall of the ocean's swell had become more natural to me than land. The sea calmed me, cradled me, and rocked me to sleep each night, and I slept fretfully when I was deprived of it.

Hector grunted. "Ye'll have it back soon enough." He took a swig of rum. "When we're in Tortuga again, I'll pick up a new ship an' ye'll stay with me - at least until after yer confinement. Then we'll find ye grander quarters than the Minories fer those visits t' London."

This last part was not at all to my liking, but I proceeded cautiously. "You're a generous man," I said, "but a good residence in London costs a fortune. And really, is it wise to be so...conspicuous, given my position?"

"'Tis so ye can bring our lad to court, show him round, an' not be ashamed o' yer lodgin's," he explained. "He'll meet the best class o' people there an' be a great man someday."

I hardly knew what to say. It might offer advantages, although even that was debatable, but the court was far more dangerous than Hector thought. Despite his low opinion of courtiers, he secretly idolised the court's pomp and influence. He had never been close enough to witness the wreck it made of so many decent people's lives, and if I criticised it, he would only dig in his heels.

I sat silently for a few minutes before I remembered Mr Defoe.

"You know," I began, "if I'm ordered to go to a dangerous place, then go I must. Even if you're off on a venture. I would need to leave the child with someone I trust. My neighbour in the Minories, Mr Singleton-although he's actually Daniel Defoe-"

"Is that what he says?" Hector scowled. "Then he's a liar and a scoundrel! Everyone knows Defoe be dead."

I raised my chin. "I beg to differ. He isn't dead-he's hiding! Defoe owes everyone money and his former employer, King George, will do nothing for him. That's life at court for you!"

I could tell by Hector's expression that this was news to him. He hesitated a moment, then said gruffly: "Why should the king help him?"

"Defoe served him loyally. He fought, wrote, observed, reported, argued on the king's behalf. Never refused a request. But now he's old and not so useful, so..."

Hector narrowed his eyes. "What yer sayin' is, he let King George pipe the tune he danced to. 'Twas a mistake. Ye must be master of yer own fate t' survive in this world." He downed the last of the rum and added: "I'll teach me son how t' deal with kings. He'll not end up like Defoe."

Pressing my lips together, I exhaled slowly. I was in dire need of a few moments alone. "I'll just take these off," I said, snatching up the bowl of scraps from our dinner.

Scraps of food were always discarded far from our camp, lest they draw scavengers. I took the bowl down to the shore and flung its contents into the sea. Then I stared at the sky and wandered along the water's edge, enjoying my solitude.

How exactly like Hector, making grandiose plans for a future we would never see! Yet according to him, we would be rescued. I frowned. He knew something-that was certain-but it suited him not to tell me. I was marooned with the most exasperating man on earth!

And what was more...

I stopped in my tracks.

Why had he said our weapons were "all we need"? Was there a clue in his words? I counted back the days. Hector hadn't used his cutlass since our escape from the _Medusa_, and I couldn't recall the last time he had shot anyone. There was no sense to any of it. Perhaps the heat of the sun had affected him. My shoulders sagged, and I trudged wearily back to our tent.

Hector was already deep in slumber, and I sat by the fire for a little while, watching his face as he slept. There was weariness in his features, which made him look careworn rather than fierce, and I resisted the impulse to smooth away the lines on his brow lest I disturb him.

Such an enigmatic man. Who could imagine the long, hard life he had endured, or guess what secrets were hidden in that quick mind of his? I accepted him, and loved him, but would I ever completely know him?

I undressed silently, crept between the sheets, and nestled close to him. Without waking, he rolled onto his side, and I made my arm a pillow for his head, enfolding him with tender thoughts. _Dream. Lie in my arms and dream all night. I'll protect you._

\- o -

Just after the sun rose, a familiar screech startled me awake. My eyes flew open, but at first I feared to move, lest this sound, like the bark of Orion's dog, had come from a dream. But this wasn't Amsterdam and I hadn't been dreaming. I was lying next to Hector, and the screech had sounded exactly like Jack the monkey.

I peeked over the top of the bedsheet, tense but motionless, darting my eyes from side to side. There was only silence. I tried to think. If, for any mad, improbable reason, I had actually heard Jack the monkey, then he had to have been brought here. And the last place I had seen him was aboard the _Pearl_.

Soundlessly, I rose, dressed myself and carefully took up Hector's spyglass. I raised the glass to my eye, focused the eyepiece, and slowly turned as I peered through it, holding my breath. And then - I gasped and almost dropped the glass. Running to Hector's side, I shook his shoulder.

"She's here—she's here! How on earth did you know?" I cried. "Quick! We mustn't lose any time!"

He opened one eye and gave me a superior smile.

"The _Pearl _is anchored just down there!" I pointed wildly. "Be quick! If we don't attract her notice, she'll slip her cable and leave without us!"

With a lazy laugh, he pulled me down onto his chest. "What are ye doin' up and dressed so soon?" He kissed me, running his calloused palm up my thigh.

"Always the honeymoon with you two, innit?" said a familiar voice.

"Jack!"I leapt to my feet.

Captain Jack Sparrow, compass in hand, had just walked into our camp and was regarding us with a look of distaste as he swayed unsteadily.

I threw my arms about his neck as he tried to fend me off. "Thank God you're here! How long have you been looking for us?"

Jack wrinkled his forehead. "Sorry-were you missing?"

Just then, Hector's pet ran past us and sprang upon his master's chest. "Good mornin', Jack," Hector said cheerily, propping himself on one elbow. I wasn't sure whether he was addressing my brother or the monkey. "Did ye bring breakfast?"

"If you didn't know we were missing," I asked my puzzled brother, "then how did you know to use the compass to find us?"

"Ah! So that's what you thought!" He grinned as understanding dawned. "As it happens, you weren't what I was looking for, darlin', but the compass knows what I want and where I need to go to get it..."

Then, to my shock, he drew his pistol, cocked the hammer, and levelled it at my husband. "...so I'll just have it back, Hector, if it's all the same to you. Or even if it ain't, savvy?"

Hector made no move to rise or dress, but lounged naked on the bed with a look of injured innocence. "Ye can see I be at a disadvantage, Jack. Now what is it ye'll have back, exactly?"

Jack swore under his breath as he jammed his pistol back in its holster. He yanked a heavy roll of paper from under his coat, quickly unfurled it, and held it up.

I gasped. It was Sao Feng's map-but the middle circle was missing.

"Useless without it," Jack said with clenched teeth. He gave Hector a baleful, black-eyed stare and added: "I know you took it." I edged between the two pirates as Jack stowed the map and drew his pistol again.

"Well, turnabout's fair play, ain't it, Jack?" said Hector from behind me. "Seein' as ye stole it from me t' begin with." Then he quickly held up the Basilikon, strung on a cord about his neck. "Oh, an' did ye forget this, Jack?" he chuckled. "Ye can't kill me."

Jack scowled at me. "That part's your fault, y' know," he hissed. "Just had to give him the amulet, didn't you?"

"There's no need t' be killin' me, Jack," Hector said. "I've a proposition for ye: take the both of us safe back t' Tortuga, an' I'll hand over the map."

So that was why he had been so confident we would be found: he had made sure Jack would use the compass to find his precious map! I turned to Hector. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? And you never said a word to me!"

He grinned proudly. "Ye should always plan fer things goin' wrong, m' sweet. Did ye think me such a fool as to double-cross that lyin' worm of a King's agent without a little...piratical advantage? I took the map the night we dined on the _Pearl_."

"See if I invite you to dinner again," said Jack. "You might have asked my help, you know."

Hector shrugged. "Would ye be here if I'd asked nice an' proper?"

Jack reflected. "Good point." I stared at Jack's pistol as he carefully released the hammer and restored the weapon to its holster. Something tugged at the back of my mind, but what?

"I knew ye'd keep the map stowed until ye were well underway," Hector was explaining. "But once ye saw there be a piece missin', ye wouldn't rest 'til ye found it. Now"-he smirked-"permission to come aboard, Captain?"

\- o -

When we made port in Tortuga, I confronted Hector privately. "Now you must keep your end of the bargain and return Jack's map. You got what you wanted."

"Agreed," he smiled. "And apologies fer not tellin' ye where I hid it. I thought ye might say somethin' to him."

I sighed and shook my head. "Oh, Hector...still not sure of me?"

Before he could stop me, I seized the great pistol he always carried. Hector's eyes widened as I fished a tightly-rolled object from its iron barrel with a hairpin.

I held up the missing piece of Sao Feng's map. Hector's mouth widened into a grin. "When did ye know?"

"The day Jack found us," I said. "When I watched him put his pistol away, I suddenly remembered. You threatened to shoot Maroto, but you never fired your pistol. Never. Not once since that night at dinner-when you took the map. I could have told Jack where to find it long before we reached Tortuga. But I kept your secret."

I moved close to him and lightly combed his coppery beard with my fingernails. "Don't doubt my loyalty, my darling man. You're too powerful to want my help in any serious matter, but"-I paused -"if ever you do, be assured that you shall have it, down to my last breath, no matter who opposes us."

Kissing my fingers, he answered: "Those be the words I wanted t' hear, sweetheart. It seems we have an accord." He grinned as he gathered me into his arms.

* * *

**Chapter 27 – Matthew** \- Yes, dear readers, there is one more chapter in this story.


	27. Matthew

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 27 - Matthew**

Before we disembarked in Tortuga, I had another matter of business to conclude - one in which Hector had shown a keen and proprietary interest. During our journey, I had written out a bill for my Messenger's expenses and composed a suitably vague narrative to go with it.

Hector had made his opinion clear. "That blasted Hervey owes me money fer me ship an' the gold he promised ye! Get every penny ye can."

Now that it was finished, I showed him my report. It asked for a great deal of money, and read in part:

"_Per the King's orders,_ _I went with Mr Norrington to Tortuga where he secured a ship to replace the Berwick. Taking me and the Spanish priest, he sailed to an island known only to himself. Here his crew dug up a quantity of gold and a strange tablet which he said was the object of his search. Then he commenced a heated argument on deck with the Spanish priest which ended with both men receiving mortal wounds._

_With Mr Norrington no longer in command, the crew seized both ship and gold, abandoning me in a longboat with no provisions. After several days, I was very ill and prayed for Death to end my sufferings. But Fortune had one more hand to play, and I was sighted by a pirate ship belonging to Captain Jack Sparrow, who rescued me. From him I heard that Mr Norrington's mutinous crew was later attacked and their ship sunk by a Spanish man o' war. _

_At present I am much out of health, and it will be some months before I am fit for travel. Enclosed you will find my expenses for this errand, since (contrary to what you anticipated) I got no gold from Mr Norrington."_

He looked it over with a hard expression and half-closed eyes. Once the corner of his mouth twitched. When he had finished, he gave it back with a quick nod. "That should do the trick."

I posted it all to Lord Hervey, and then we set out for the Faithful Bride to meet Rufus and Elizabeth-now the proud mother of a baby boy. We spent a pleasant hour exchanging news with our friends over a fine meal, and then Rufus handed over the duffel I had left with him.

"What's t' do now?" he asked. "With no ship, an' a baby comin'?"

Hector jutted his chin proudly. "While I be seekin' a proper ship, I'm thinkin' of takin' a house, so's I can engage a physician fer the lyin'-in."

I lifted an eyebrow, but Rufus nodded approvingly. "Come t' St Thomas," he said. "Many a gentleman o' fortune lives there."

Elizabeth turned to me at once. "And Rufus or Jen could manage the lying-in for you."

"Ais, Jen d' have a knack wi' babies," Rufus agreed. He turned to Hector. "If ye be away when the maidy's pains come, ye needn't worry a jot. We'd be that glad t' help 'ur."

\- 0 -

A fortnight later on a sunny day in June, we settled upon a small, furnished brick house with green shutters overlooking the harbour in St Thomas. Its owner was a Dutch merchant who had returned to Amsterdam and was anxious to let the premises. The house was planned about a central passageway with wide, inviting stairs that led to a spacious landing and thence to the comfortable upstairs rooms. Although I intended to go back to sea as soon as possible, I warmed to this charming house.

On our first day as tenants, I slipped away unnoticed to our bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I set my duffel upon the bed and began rummaging through its contents. Firstly, I found my wedding band and slid it onto my finger. Then, sifting through half a dozen books, I drew out the little Spanish journal that I now recognised as Ponce de Leon's log.

Frowning, I riffled its pages and then scanned each one methodically. But there was no denying what I had feared all along: the entries stopped at Cuidad Blanca. There was no record of the_ Santiago's_ arrival at the Fountain.

Had the old conquistador ceased keeping a log? My instincts told me he had not, but I had seen no other book in Ponce de Leon's quarters. Then Jeremy's words came back to me.

_Two journals,_ he had said. Two journals, stolen -according to rumour-by Edward Teague and Harry Bitter.

I looked at the book in my hand, given me by Teague when he took me from Highcliffe more than ten years ago. "Dear life, it must be true," I whispered. "They did steal those journals."

All the puzzle pieces fitted together. It must have been a secret commission for Harry, who brought his cousin along as he often did. They had got the journals, read them, and decided the power of the Ritual was too dangerous to be revealed. But if there were two, why had Teague given me only one?

Where was the second?

A cold, creeping tension squeezed the air from my chest as something else occurred to me: Captain Harry had been returning from London when he was killed-was his business there related to the Fountain?

I forced myself to breathe, to swallow. Whatever the answers might be, they would not bring back Harry Bitter, and in a few months I would bring a baby into the world. Until then, I resolved to throttle my feelings of unease. For the present time, there was one volume in my possession and my duty was clear.

Despite the summer weather, I lit a fire and waited patiently in the sweltering room. When I judged the flames hot enough, I tossed the book straight into them.

As the fire did its work, I gripped the poker tightly, jabbing at the book as if driving a sword through its heart, breaking up even the tiniest fragments. When the last scrap of paper had burnt to ashes, the weight on my shoulders eased a bit and I put the poker back in its stand.

Familiar boots sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Hector opened the door and peered in.

"What ails ye? Why'd ye need a fire on a day like-Ah!" His sharp eyes went to the little heap of ashes.

"I've burnt Ponce de Leon's log," I said, twisting the ring on my finger. "Remember you promised not to tell Jack-we have an accord."

He grunted acquiescence, then looked suspiciously at my hand. "Why are ye wearin' that? Ye agreed our marriage were to be clandestine."

"Secret it is, and secret it shall remain," I replied. "We're miles from anyone who could cause trouble - why should I not wear it? And in any case, the real proof is written here." I held up Teague's log. "I keep it safe, never to be registered...unless someday you wish it."

He made no reply, and there was an awkward pause between us.

My spirits fell with a suddenness that caught me by surprise, and I thought the world very sad indeed. I shrugged through a mist of irrational tears. "Well... if you don't, then perhaps you'd better burn it."

He looked astonished at my sudden show of melancholy. "Easy, missus, easy," he said in a soothing tone. "I'd sooner burn me own hand off."

I wiped my eyes impatiently. "By the devil! Why am I so inclined to tears and temper lately?"

He gathered me in his arms and held me against his chest. "Ye know there be consequences to makin' this marriage official," he murmured. "And ye know-or ye should know-where me heart lies."

"I do know," I replied, embarrassed. "Apologies, my love. You must think-oh!"

Startled, he held me by the shoulders, then a wide grin spread across his face. He placed a hand on my belly and gave a hearty chuckle. "There he is, the little buffer! Kickin' ye good, is he? I'll have a word or two t' say to him later!"

I began to laugh. "And if you get a daughter instead?"

"Well..." He seemed to struggle with the idea for a moment before his confident manner asserted itself. "We'll know soon enough, won't we? But I ain't here t' bandy words about the baby—I came t' tell ye I found a likely ship fer yer smugglin' venture."

"What sort of a ship is she?"

"Only a lugger, but she'll do, at least fer now." He` offered me his arm. "Come along t' the dock an' take a gander."

"Does she have a name?"

"Aye, the_ Andromeda_."

\- 0 -

The_ Andromeda_ proved an excellent ship for the smuggling trade. Elizabeth, Rufus and I managed a few short runs with cargos of brandy, but my confinement soon slowed our efforts.

As my time drew near, Rufus' daughter Jen would visit me two or three times a week, making sure I was in health, and guessing what day her services would be needed. She was a pleasant, capable woman whose smile reminded me of Rufus and made me wonder what family resemblance I might find in my baby.

Each night, when we were abed and Hector asleep, I would lie awake and guess. Lad or lass? Auburn haired, or fair? Possibly an infant version of Hector, with red hair and sharp blue eyes. Unless the baby had raven hair and dark eyes like the Teagues. Or the ashy blonde locks of the Bitters. I often thought of Marianne Bitter, and of my grandmother, Grace Anna Teague. One awful midnight, a vivid memory of my uncle Hanibal jolted me out of sleep. I fretted and paced the floor until Hector opened one eye and ordered me back to bed.

I obliged, but lay awake long afterwards, peering into the dark with one hand on my belly and a silent question on my lips: who are you, little one? Who are you?

\- 0 –

On a crisp autumn day, I awoke with a terrible pain, as if the Kraken had slithered up through the mattress and seized me about the waist. Hector had risen and left the house early, and so was spared my groans and curses. How long it all lasted I couldn't tell, but I was relieved when it stopped.

I sent a message to Jen at once.

Although it seemed to me that the baby would arrive within minutes, the pain had ceased completely. After a short while, Rufus and Jen joined me, and I described the twisting and squeezing agony.

Jen smiled broadly. "'Tis yer time. I suspicioned it yesterday. There be hours to go yet, but I reckon you'll get yer first look at the little 'un sometime today."

Rufus nodded agreement and said: "This afternoon, I think. Eh, Jen?"

We three were chatting easily until Hector rushed in, having discovered that the long-awaited event was finally underway. As we continued talking, Hector strode up and down the room, darting sharp glances at me.

"I beg you to leave off pacing!" I implored him. "You look as if you're waiting for the mail coach!" But he remained agitated, refusing to sit or even stand still, and as I felt the beginnings of my next pain, I was mightily inclined to throw something at his head.

"By the powers-" I gasped. I would have made known much more of my feelings, but found I couldn't breathe for the pressure that suddenly gripped me.

At last Rufus stepped in. "Tes hours yet," he assured Hector with a sidelong look at me. "I be minded to step round t' the Three Tides fer a drop or two. Why don't ye come along o' me? The chiel won't come 'til supper time."

Hector narrowed his eyes. "I might hold ye t' that." But Rufus eventually persuaded him that matters were well in hand, and the two pirates departed.

As soon as the downstairs door banged shut, Jen said, "Father knaws Captain can't help 'ee. Just as well if he be elsewhere." She poured a bit of brandy for me as we waited for my next bout.

I sipped the drink nervously. "Jen, can I...can I truly do this?"

She laughed. "Tes too late t' be askin' now!" Patting my hand, she added: "There be naught t' fear. Don't 'ee worry a inch!"

I cleared my throat. "I never really -I mean, it just doesn't seem possible, somehow."

"Twill be over before ye knaws it," she said, "and ye namin' yer first little mite!"

"It'll be Matthew or India," I told her.

At least this point had been settled with Hector. He had opposed 'Jack', as I expected. But when I suggested 'Matthew', he had considered. "That be yer grandfather, the viscount?"

When I nodded, he quickly agreed to call the baby Matthew. He was somewhat less particular about choosing a female name, and went along with my wish to call our daughter India, because we had met in the Indies.

Yet now, staring down at my half-empty glass, I felt terribly uncertain, as though I were speaking of someone else's life. I even wondered if, when all was said and done, Hector would like the baby. Would I, myself, like the baby?

Over the next several hours, the pains became stronger and more frequent, until they seemed nearly continuous. Jen reassured me as one of her daughters rushed up and down the stairs bringing herbal potions and later a pail of hot water. Between my pains and following Jen's orders to push, I had no other thought except the hope that all would be over soon. At last, after a tremendous effort, there was a change. My body relaxed, and Jen allowed me to recline. I stared at the ceiling, wondering what sort of giant I had delivered. There was laughter and conversation between Jen and her daughter, and then a new sound that thrilled my heart-a baby's thin cries!

"I want to see!" I demanded, exhausted but struggling to get up.

"Easy, dear," Jen replied. "I'll bring the baby to ye. What did ye say the names were?"

"Matthew or India," I mumbled.

Then I heard her say, "Swill 'im a bit afore she sees 'im."

My heart gave a leap. "Did you say _him_?"

"I did indeed," she replied. "Ye've got the Captain a little lad! Here's Matthew!"

She laid a small bundle upon my stomach and stepped back.

I raised my head and felt breathless. A perfect little face with large, wonder-filled blue eyes was gazing at me.

Unable to trust my voice, I gathered him carefully into my arms. We stared at each other, and I must have entered a sort of trance, forgetting that there was anyone else in the room. It was like falling in love.

After a few minutes, Jen put him in swaddling, then laid him down again, close beside me, as the floor rattled with the sound of Hector's boots thumping up the stairs.

There was a rising clamour of voices downstairs as a crowd of pirates pushed into the lower hallway. I braced myself for an invasion, but Hector entered the room unaccompanied, save by an odiferous cloud of rum and tobacco.

I smiled up at him as he stood over Matthew and me, and though he returned my loving look, his eyes were on Matthew. He folded back the swaddling and inspected the baby for a moment, then his mouth widened into a broad grin.

Suddenly he scooped up his son with both hands and, hoisting him up in the air, declared: "Welcome t' the world, Matthew Barbossa!"

Matthew turned red and let out a roar, and Hector burst out laughing.

"Listen to the lusty little tacker!" he exclaimed. "You've got yer daddy's voice, don't ye?"

He tucked Matthew into the crook of his arm and leant over to give me a loving, emphatic kiss. Then he made for the door as Jen scrambled after them, remonstrating about the baby's need for peace and quiet.

"There's no stopping him," I murmured to no one in particular. And indeed Hector went straight out to the hallway, where I heard the pirates giving three cheers as he presented them with his new son.

After the first uproar, the voices gradually quietened as our visitors drifted away in small groups. When the last boisterous pirate had departed, Hector returned and sat on the bed, holding Matthew.

Jen withdrew, discreetly shutting the door behind her.

I raised my arms to receive the baby, but Hector shook his head with a smile. "Ye need a bit o' rest – ye've earned it."

There was no denying my utter exhaustion. "Just for a bit then," I murmured, and let my arms fall back by my sides. In less than a minute, I was sound asleep.

An hour or so later, I became drowsily aware of the room once more. The sky outside had darkened as night came on, and in the shadows I could make out Hector in an armchair rocking Matthew and singing something quietly in his deep, rumbling voice. I frowned and listened to the words.

_What will they do with a drunken sailor, what will they do with a drunken sailor, what will they do with a drunken sailor, early in the mornin'... _

I suppose I should have expected no less. I made a mental note to teach Hector a few more suitable lullabies, but sleep returned before I could summon the will to move.

Later I awakened again, to the sound of someone else's voice singing an old lullaby from my childhood. I half opened my eyes and saw Jen seated in a chair, rocking the baby. My fierce, moody father sat nearby with his guitar, softly singing the same ballad for his grandson as he had done for his daughter, "Spanish Ladies".

\- 0 –

Some days later, Hector and I were enjoying a rare few moments of tranquility in the front room, when a familiar voice broke the peace of our morning.

"Apologies for not droppin' by sooner, love. Celebratory overindulgences arose, ensued and were dealt with."

"Apologies accepted, dear," I said quickly, before Hector could start a fight. "Lovely to see you."

Jack swayed into the room with a sparking smile that faded as his eyes darted here and there. "I was told there was a baby about..."

"Ah! That would be Matthew," I said. "I couldn't get his swaddling right, so Jen's fixing it. He'll be back presently."

"Oh! Well, that's alright then." He grinned confidently and held up a letter. "In the meantime, I've brought you this. It came to the _Pearl_ for some reason-"

"'Some reason? Meanin' ye took it," Hector snorted.

I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. "It's from Lord Hervey." Hector leaned over me as I read. Lord Hervey declared himself well pleased with me, complimenting my "success under trying circumstances". The last sentence read "I shall expect great things from you in the future."

"Flattery, t' lure ye back," Hector commented. "Don't let it go t' yer head." He took the letter from me as I basked in Lord Hervey's approval. At last I had established myself as a Messenger.

Hector scowled at the letter and abruptly demanded: "Where d' ye think yer goin, Sparrow?"

Jack had been edging towards the door, but froze.

"What about this?" Hector began to read: "I enclose yer money an' hope ye recall what I told ye, that the powerful will pay fer intelligence." He glared at Jack. "Where be the money?"

Jack assumed a look of sudden recollection, and produced a bank note from his coat pocket. "Ah! There it is! Wasn't sure where it had gone..."

Hector snatched the note. "That's half - I'll have the rest of her money too." He indicated the corner of another note in Jack's other pocket.

Jack handed over the note with a show of offended dignity. "I'll have you know I merely intended to redeem them for you at the Bank of England," he explained, "assuming you prefer gold instead of paper. Someone's got to take 'em to London."

Hector snorted. "Very likely. We'll see to that in good time. Fer now, I'll keep 'em." He strode out of the room, no doubt in search of a secure hiding place.

Jack quickly slid into a chair beside me and pulled Sao Feng's map from his waistcoat. "Sorry, love, but I had to show you this without your dearly beloved. Look-there's been a change!"

I stared at the spot he indicated. My heart made an anxious little leap, but there was no mistaking what I saw. Something new had been added; one island now bore a tiny, inky representation of a ship on cliffs. A caravel.

After a strained silence in which I tried not to betray my agitation, I finally said: "I don't suppose you have any idea where this island is?"

"Not yet," he said, rolling up the map and putting it away.

"Here he is!" Jen's cheerful voice announced Matthew's return.

Jack quickly intercepted her. "Ta, love. We'll take it from here." He sat down with Matthew in his arms as Jen withdrew.

"Nice work, darlin'," Jack said with a look of relief. "He's the spit of Harry - a real Bitter, savvy? Not a trace of the other side of the family." He winked at me, then studied Matthew for a moment. "Poor little mite-look how she's got him all bound up! He wants his freedom, don' ee?"

"Don't-" I started to say, but Jack was too quick for me.

He had the swaddling off in an instant, and Matthew commenced screaming at the top of his lungs.

"It keeps them calm!" I shouted over the noise, feeling as though I could use a bit of swaddling myself.

After a few hasty efforts to replace the swaddling, Jack gave up and handed Matthew to me. "Oh, look! He wants his mother! Must run..."

He departed speedily, almost colliding with Jen as she rushed in to help me with Matthew.

"Not much fer visitin', is ee?" she commented with a nod towards the door.

"He is a pirate, after all. Adventure beckons." As I spoke, I looked down at Matthew and wondered half apprehensively what his life would be. "What do you think, Matthew? Wouldn't you like a quieter life instead?"

He seized my finger in his tiny fist and laughed. Then I recalled the way Jack had described me long ago. _Brought up by an adventurer, to be an adventurer._ That was how we would raise our son. There really was no other way.

"Never you mind, love," I said to Matthew. "There are worse fates."

* * *

**Epilogue** – The future calls.


	28. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. Original characters and plots are owned by me.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm."

_\- Dorothy Parker_

I did not return to London for three years. During that time, Hector and I heaped upon each other every tenderness and favour our affections could devise, and so well-matched were we that not a single cross word passed between us. We kept the small house in St Thomas for the time being, and it was there that Matthew took his first steps and delighted us with his childish prattle.

Elizabeth, Rufus and I embarked once more on our free-trading enterprise, making short runs on the _Andromeda._ As Hector had predicted, she proved an excellent smuggling ship and he even undertook certain piratical ventures of his own on her.

As a sense of peace settled round my heart, all my fears departed, and I had no more dreams of Orion.

One night after he had been totting up the profits from our various endeavours, Hector shut his ledger book and beckoned me to his lap. "Come and sit," he coaxed, a gleam in his eye.

When I was seated with one arm round his neck, he kissed me. Then he studied my face, half smiling before he spoke. "I was thinkin' today-do ye remember our days upon the _Pearl_? 'Twere a pleasin' time, eh, little bird?" He caressed the side of my face with his hand, drawing his thumb across my cheek.

He could hardly have found a topic more apt to stir my passion than the early days of our courtship, and our conversation was suspended as I worked my fingers under his waistcoat and nibbled at his ear. "It was heaven-each and every moment. I had never yearned for any man the way I did for you."

"There be no reason we can't make more journeys like that." His fingers traced my breasts through the thin cloth of my chemise as he murmured sweet suggestions. "A great cabin, all to ourselves, livin' like kings on the finest victuals an' wines... 'Tis only a matter o' money."

What was he getting at? We already had enough to live quite well, and expectations of making a great deal more. I concluded that I was being set up for something, and nestled my head under his chin so he couldn't see my face.

"Ye get more by plunderin' the bigger merchant ships," he went on, "but fer that I have need of a proper vessel with more guns on her, like the _Troubadour_." He buried his face in my hair. "Like...well, why not? ...like the _Pearl_."

So that was it. I shifted position and looked him in the eye. "Don't tell me you're still after the _Pearl_. She's bad luck for you-I feel it in my bones."

He set his jaw. "Ye should know me well enough by now to know what I think o' signs an' omens. I mean t' make us rich. An' I need a proper ship t' do it."

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against his neck. _Are we not happy as we are? _I wanted to cry out. But I already knew what his answer would be.

Then inspiration struck. "I concede that you require a better ship," I said, "but it needn't be the _Pearl_. I can redeem the bank notes Lord Hervey sent, and give the gold to you-it should be enough for a fine ship!"

The idea evidently took Hector by surprise, and before he could argue, I outlined my plan. "I had a letter last month from my father. He's bringing the _Troubadour_ to Tortuga for provisioning, then he's off to Ramsgate. I can sail with him."

Hector found his voice. "An' just who's to look after me son while yer away?" he demanded.

"Matthew will go with me," I replied. "It's time he had a glimpse of his own country. I want him to grow up knowing something of it, and you've talked about how my connections could be to his advantage."

"Devil strike me if I let ye take him!" Hector roared. "He stays here, where I have me own business t' look after!"

But I had held back my best card, and now I played it. "As you like," I shrugged, "only, he'll lose a chance to meet King George."

Hector fell suddenly quiet, as if he were trying to hear the distant squeak of a mouse. I suppressed a smile as I watched his face. His inclination to spend time with his son contended mightily with his appetite for social advancement-and lost.

He studied me with narrowed eyes. "So...if I agree t' let him go, ye solemnly promise t' introduce him to the King?"

"I promise," I replied, looking as solemn as possible. "But you must promise me you won't try to take the _Pearl_ from Jack."

The corners of his mouth curled up the way they always did when he felt he had got the better end of a bargain. "Agreed, sweetheart," he purred. "We have an accord."

Within a month, I had made all the necessary arrangements to sail for London. And then, on the night before I was to board the _Troubadour_, my dream returned.

It began with the sound of Orion's dog barking, but Orion could not be seen. Instead, there was a ship on the horizon, a dark ship with a horribly familiar shape. It did not seem to be moving, yet it was not anchored. Run aground, perhaps? But I knew it had not been wrecked. Nothing could wreck this vessel. And there was a black-haired, bearded man in the water, a man who should be dead, swimming round and round it, laughing.

A great stab of fear went through my stomach. "No!"

I woke with a violent jolt. For a moment I lay nearly breathless, my heart hammering wildly, my body cold and rigid with fear. My shout was still ringing in my mind, but I gradually came to realise that only in my dream had I cried out.

Hector was sleeping peacefully beside me. The heady perfume of night-blooming jasmine drifted through our open window, along with the faint, bird-like peeping of tree frogs. My pulse gradually ceased to race. All was well.

I left the bed quietly and peered out the window. The night was warm and clear, with the first slow stirrings of a tropical breeze. Fair winds for our departure.

But I stared into the darkness knowing: it wasn't over. Not yet.

Not by a long shot.

THE END


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